To Live is To Die
by villains-doitbetter
Summary: Twenty years is a long time...Minister of Justice Claude Frollo tries to balance life between reluctant fatherhood and keeping Paris safe (and having a trouble-making younger brother does not help very much.) A midquel of sorts taking place between the opening scene and the events of the movie. Rated M for violence.
1. Parenthood

"The bell tower, perhaps," Frollo suggested, his gaze drawn to the top of the Notre Dame cathedral. "And who knows? Our Lord works in mysterious ways."

He studied the misshapen child he held in his hand, swaddled in rags. Thank heaven that it only cried briefly after its gypsy mother had suffered an _accident_ mere moments ago.

"Even this foul creature may improve one day to be…_of use to me_," he said lowly to himself, his lips curling into a conniving smile.

Father Augustin, the Archdeacon, gave Frollo a quick condemning expression as he still held the gypsy's lifeless body in his arms as the winter snow whipped through the air.

"The bell tower? Are you sure that you wouldn't rather the child live with you in the Palace of Justice instead?"

Frollo shuddered to think of living under the same roof as such a beast. He thought of the humiliation and disgrace he would be subjected to should he be seen with the child. The Minister might have thought himself above all others in the city, but even he could not bear to endure the reproach he would receive from simple peasants…not when he knew that this whole mess was his fault, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

He gave a self-assured glance and nonchalantly replied, "Positive. This _thing_ would not at all benefit from the scorn it will receive from being seen by the common folk. No, it is a monster and must be shielded for its own sake."

Augustin sighed. "Very well, Minister," he said. "We will make suitable arrangements for the child. I must see that this poor soul is properly put to rest." With that said, the Archdeacon shouldered through one of the church's wooden doors and carried the woman's body in.

Solemnly nodding, Frollo pulled himself off of the great black beast of a horse and followed the Archdeacon inside.

Frollo exhaled in irritation at the thought of another problem to worry about; it was enough that he was constantly pulling his teenage brother Jehan out of trouble for his reckless behavior—now he had another child to keep watch over?

But this _thing_ was human by no means: its body was uneven and mangled and born of gypsy descent, and Frollo could not decide which was worse.

He made his way to the church's pews and directed his attention to the great rose window that bore the image of the Virgin Mary and Child. He wondered how many times had he looked up at this stained glass beauty in times of turmoil and great shame. The only thing he could think was, _I was only carrying out my sacred duty to uphold the law and apprehend wrongdoers. Any misfortune that followed was through no fault of my own._

_But why _me_?! _He internally pleaded. _I have done nothing to deserve such a burden to bear!_

He looked down at the boy and studied his features: of course there was the unsettling sight of the large wart almost completely covering his left eye; a small tuft of red hair on his head; and even under the rags that swaddled the boy, Frollo could feel the baby's spine curved upward and creating a small hump in its back.

Suddenly the child began to fuss and wriggle in his arms, bringing the judge out of his thoughts. Nervously, he rocked the child to calm it, his heart beating fast out of a long forgotten emotion that he had felt only minutes ago when all this chaos began: _fear_. Fear which made him see the reality of his situation.

Frollo denied to himself over and over in his head that he was blameless and hoped to be relieved of having to care for this creature. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no comforting bright side at all in this situation.

"Minister?" Frollo was shaken from these thoughts at the Archdeacon's voice. "I believe we have matters to attend to," he addressed, motioning towards the staircase that led to the bell tower, Frollo following behind.

"Once again, Frollo: the child can stay in another–more suitable–part of the church." Frollo gave him a cold stare indicating that his mind was made up. "Alright then," Augustin concluded. "I've never been able to stop you before…no matter how rash your decision may be." The last part he muttered to himself.

Frollo's lip curled at the man's words. "Do not test me, Father," he said harshly. "I am perfectly capable of deciding the fate of this child. Besides, what better place to become close to the Lord than in His own House?"

The Archdeacon decided to leave it at that knowing that such a stubborn man would not be so easily persuaded.

Attempting to make light of the situation, Father Augustin said, "Tell me, Claude, when was the last time you traveled up to the top of the church?"

Thinking for a moment, he responded, "I haven't ventured up to the top of the cathedral since I was a child." Frollo tried focusing on climbing the stairs and carrying the child to avoid any unwanted memories that might come flooding back to him.

"Well, since you intend to house the child in the church, you do know that you must still visit and raise it as your own? Your penance does not end at simply finding it a place to live," the Archdeacon explained.

The Minister scoffed at this. "Isn't it enough that I spared the wretched creature _its life?_" He glanced disdainfully at the child who looked back at him with his good eye. "I have done my fair share of raising children, as evidenced by my brother. In all fairness, Father, I _never_ intended to be a parent, let alone to a child that isn't mine, but rather what I assume can only be the wicked spawn of the Devil!"

The priest stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the Minister on the lower steps. "Claude," he said sternly. "What we want may not always be aligned with what God expects from us. He obviously has other plans for you, and are _you_ willing to challenge that?"

Frollo stood agape at this argument, unsure of how to respond.

"Besides," he continued, collected. "I think that this endeavor will benefit the both of you: the child will grow up cared for, and you might learn something as well."

They continued their trek up the stairwell until finally reaching the tower; memories of days hiding up here as a boy briefly coming back to the judge, only for him to quickly suppress them and any more nostalgia.

The air in the tower was extremely cold and much darker than the rest of the Notre Dame. Frollo glanced around the tower which was cluttered with broken statues and tattered cloth.

"You are absolutely sure that the child should live _here?_" Augustin asked once more. Frollo shot him an irritated glance as his answer. "Well then, you do know that the proper necessities must be provided by _you_, Minister?" the Archdeacon reminded him.

"Money is not an issue, Father," he assured. "I will personally see to it that it receives the appropriate provisions."

"It should be noted that our current bell-ringer should be informed of the tower's new occupant, although I'm not sure that he will be quite excited by the news."

"He will adapt," Frollo bluntly replied. "He is almost completely impaired by his hearing and I doubt that the boy's presence will affect him much. Simply explain that as the child's guardian I will visit it as often as time permits me, and that he does not have to pay any mind whatsoever to him. And should anything happen to the boy, I will hold the man personally responsible."

"By the way, Claude," Augustin continued. "If you are going to raise this child, then you must give it a suitable name to address it by."

"_Suitable_? This thing is not even completely human, but rather something incomplete and half-formed!" Frollo wondered what kind of name could at all seem fitting to grace this poor soul with.

After a brief moment, he reevaluated his statement and chuckled darkly to himself. "_Half-formed_," he muttered again. "_Quasimodo_," he stated.

The Archdeacon furrowed his thick eyebrows at the Minister. "Claude, you cannot be serious. A name such as that is simply cruel on your part. Would you not prefer giving it a _better_ name?"

Frollo frowned at this challenge of authority. "Father, you did say to give it a _suitable_ name, and what could be more fitting than naming it for what it is?"

Irked by Frollo's smugly assured attitude, the Archdeacon retorted, "To be fair, Minister, you are not crippled despite your name suggesting otherwise."

He scowled at the exposure of irony. "That is neither here nor there. But since _I_ am to be its guardian, _I_ will decide what is best for him…_Quasimodo_. Unless of course, you would like to place it in the foundlings' bed yourself and release me of this penance?"

The Archdeacon could only look disapprovingly at the Minister, still holding the quiet child in his gloved hands.

"I didn't think so," Frollo responded. "Anyway, I must go and sort out these arrangements for Quasimodo and in the mean time I will need to leave him here while I attend to them."

"And for how long do you expect these arrangements to occupy your time, Minister?" Augustin distrustfully asked, crossing his arms.

"No more than a day or two. But who knows? It could take more time than desired." Frollo handed Quasimodo over to the man as he turned back towards the stairwell.

"Claude," Frollo turning around at the stern tone of voice. "Remember: if you do not return to care for the child, it will only be a hollow gesture that you cannot pass off as penance."

"I understand, Father," he replied, trying to hide his annoyance. "But I assure you, my soul will be just fine. Now if you excuse me, I have matters to attend to," before taking his leave down the flight of stairs.

The Archdeacon looked at the now sleeping child and shook his head. Softly he said to himself, "Lord have mercy on you both."

Walking down the stairs, Frollo suppressed a scream of anger as he furiously pulled at his hair.

That night, back at the Palace of Justice, Frollo drowned his frustration in spirits, each drink becoming more aggravating as he replayed the day's events over in his head.

He cursed himself for being subjected in serving a penance in his position: to be a young, up and coming Minister of Justice saddled with being an unwilling parent would most definitely put a damper on his mission of uncovering the legendary gypsy hideout, the Court of Miracles.

_Is this all a part of Your plan?_ He asked God as he stared out at the dark winter sky from the balcony of his chambers. _Have I not suffered enough? What have I done to deserve such a punishment?_

_Do you intend for that abomination to be of some benefit to me in the future? _He prayed.

_Will it assist me in finding the Court of Miracles?_

He instantly doubted it as a possibility. Quasimodo was so ill-fitted to function properly that Frollo wondered how long the boy would actually live for.

"_Deus, da mihi virtutem_," he prayed before heading to bed.

Frollo slept restlessly, plagued by constant memories of first seeing the child's horrible, disfigured face—a face that could in no way be created by nature, only by Satan himself.

He was only relieved when the dawn began to break so that he may start his day as early as possible to escape such sleepless torment, albeit with an unbearable headache.

***Let's hope this story turns out to be a'ight ;) R/R please**

**"Deus, da mihi virtutem": "God, give me strength"**


	2. Welcome to the Family

Frollo had ordered various servants to fetch the proper necessities for Quasimodo, without giving too much away which could lead to unflattering gossip. They cast each other suspicious glances at his requested items: infant clothes, a cradle, linen cloths…Was the Minister expecting some secret love child or keeping family perhaps?

When one of the bold ones attempted to inquire about the contents of his list, the judge irritably replied, "It is not your place to question my orders; just do as you are told."

He commanded that these items be delivered to Notre Dame where he would visit later on, even with a constant throbbing in his head from last night's angry drinks.

X

The young man whistled happily as he climbed up the steps and pushed through the church's doors late in the day. As a handsome teenage boy with his riotous blond curls and red fur-lined tunic, he was the image of lust for life. He scanned around the nave until he located the Archdeacon.

"Father Augustin!" he called, his boisterous voice echoing and startling the man.

Gathering his composure, Augustin greeted the teen. "Good day, Jehan. What brings you here at this hour?"

"I've been all over the city looking for my brother and heard that he might be here. Have you seen him?"

"Ah yes, he's up in the bell tower actually. Although I'm not sure he is in the right mood to see you now, Jehan."

Jehan shrugged his shoulders. "Nonsense, Father! My brother is always pleased to see me!" he happily assured as he turned away and headed for the stairwell.

Jehan lightly pondered over the priest's words; he may have said that his brother was not in a pleasant mood, but then again Claude was always in a foul one, so what difference would it make?

"Claude!" he called out as he neared the top of the tower. "Claude! Are you up here?"

As he reached the top of the staircase, Frollo marched down the steps gritting his teeth and looking incredibly annoyed.

"Jehan!" the judge angrily hissed. "Will you be _quiet?!_" he said before turning around and making his way up the steps, the teen following his brother to the bell tower.

"_Quiet?_" Jehan questioned. "What are you doing up here anyway?"

Frollo sighed in frustration. "Never mind that! Whatever predicament you have found yourself in or amount of money that you desire I cannot help you with right now. So if you would be so kind as to leave me be, I will visit you another time."

"But I really do need your assistance today…" Jehan's plea was interrupted by a gurgling sound coming from the top of the steps of the tower. Glancing up and back at his brother, Jehan raised an eyebrow and asked, "What was that?"

Frollo shook his head and climbed back up the steps with Jehan in tow, curious to see what his brother was hiding.

Upon reaching the top, Jehan's eyes immediately fell upon the wooden cradle a few feet away from where the small voice came.

While Frollo busied himself at a nearby table pouring milk into a hollowed out cow's horn, Jehan eagerly asked, "Claude, is _that_ what I think it is?"

"Partially, so to speak," he answered dryly and glancing back at Jehan. "This child is now my responsibility and I have decided to care for it here in the church."

"You're a father now?!" Jehan asked in disbelief. "You know, I always had a hunch that you had a secret love life you weren't telling me about."

Frollo gave him a cold look before saying, "This child is _not_ my flesh and blood. I have just taken him into my care due to certain unforeseen circumstances."

Jehan stepped closer towards Quasimodo's cradle. "Come now, brother. I'm sure that this child can't be all…"

The boy stumbled backward in shock and horror. "_Good Lord! What is that?!_" He shakily ran back and gripped Frollo by the arm. "What is that _thing?!_" he repeated, pointing nervously back at the cradle.

Stoically, Frollo answered, "That monstrosity is now my ward." He pried Jehan's nails out of his arm and walked over to lift the baby up. Frollo walked back over to the table where a shaken Jehan backed up a little from the pair. He watched as his brother picked up the horn and carefully fed it to the child.

"Why not just put the wretched thing to a wet-nurse?" Jehan asked. "Isn't that what you did for me?"

"Easier said than done," Frollo answered. "My endeavors have been utterly fruitless in finding a wet-nurse willing enough to feed a child as hideous as him."

Jehan examined the child's protruding wart over the left eye as he hungrily drank from the horn. "By the way, what's the little beast's name?"

"Quasimodo."

Jehan chuckled at this. "Good one." The teen scanned the tower, his gaze wandering upward towards the bells in the high ceiling. "Charming place to keep a child," he remarked. "So how did you come to be the caretaker of this child? Unless he really is the product of a secret love affair; if so, well done!"

Frollo glared at his brother. "I have already told you that I did not sire this boy! It was orphaned and I was named his guardian. Besides, I would never be so careless as to commit such a disgusting sin as fathering a bastard child!"

"Then what does that make Quasimodo since you have no wife and he isn't yours by blood?" Jehan challenged, enjoying the sheer annoyance evidenced on Frollo's face.

"It simply means that I have taken him in as my own out of the goodness of my heart," he unemotionally answered. To prevent any further inquiries (and to avoid recounting the actual story), Frollo quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, what did you want in the first place, Jehan? If it is money that you seek, I will not help you."

Jehan's face turned up into an innocent smile. "Brother," he said sweetly. "I only wanted to pay you a visit, but then I remembered something... You know how much I value your good grace, which is why I come to you in need of a few pieces of silver. You see, I too experienced some unforeseen circumstances that have robbed me of my allowance."

Frollo took the now empty horn out of Quasimodo's mouth and gave him a light pat on the back before laying the boy into his cradle.

He looked doubtfully at his little brother. "By any chance did these "circumstances" happen to be the filthy succubi of Rue Glatigny, or perhaps a so-called "bad hand" at one of your card games?"

"Of course not! Give me a little more credit than that!"

"Hmm…a few more drinks you have put down on your already-extensive tab at La Falourdel's?"

Jehan frowned at his brother's inquiry. "That is not the point. I am in desperate need of money!"

"Then elaborate, please," Frollo said calmly and crossing his arms. "What do you so _desperately_ require money for?"

Stretching the truth, Jehan replied, "Why, because there is a poor soul out there in great need of a new suit, and we are a charitable family, are we not? And I want to be the one to provide this poor man with said charity."

Frollo remained unmoved at Jehan's subtle lie. "_Charity?_ Please, do you deem me a simpleton? I know fully well that you intend to waste my money on ridiculous luxuries to your heart's content. By the way, how are your studies? For your sake I pray that you are not getting involved in any more unnecessary quarrels."

Jehan nervously sucked the air through his teeth and ran his hand through his hair. "It appears that one of my books has been misplaced, and another was stolen."

Frollo rubbed his temples at the egregiousness of his brother's disregard for such materials. "Are there any books of yours that did not suffer the same fate?"

"I didn't lose my Aristotle book," he replied.

"That's a start. Jehan, you must be more _responsible—'For each will have to bear his own load.'_ Take proper care of your possessions, especially when they are of priceless, intellectual value such as books."

"Except for Aristotle," Jehan protested. "Which is why I got rid of it."

Frollo blinked at this. "You _purposely_ disposed of one of your school books?"

"Yes, I did. You always said to avoid such heathen ideas, which is why I have shunned the man's works. Anyway, I told you, the reason I sought you out is because I still require money."

Frollo's muscles tensed up as he wanted scold Jehan further and maybe wring his neck for such carelessness, which he gladly would have done had it not been for a cry emitting from Quasimodo's cradle.

Taking the baby once more into his arms, Frollo heard his brother remark, "But, I see that you have your hands full, so I suppose we will just have to discuss the value of education later, Claude. But, there is still the pressing matter of me in need of _money_…"

"Jehan!" Frollo growled as he attempted to calm the wailing infant in his arms. "If I give you money will you _please_ leave?"

Jehan flashed a mischievous grin. "For you, brother, of course." He held out his hand expectantly towards Frollo who pulled out a coin purse from his pocket and tossed it to Jehan.

"Now be on your way already," he ordered.

Jehan smiled smugly and thanked his brother before heading out, weighing the bag in his hand triumphantly.

Frollo cautiously rocked Quasimodo in his arms even though he continued to bawl, the sound ear-splitting to the Minister as he could feel a headache already forming in his skull.

The whole time the judge had been here, he had entered a never-ending battle in little Quasimodo's incessant crying. When he described it to the Archdeacon in an earlier visit, the man explained that the boy needed time to adjust after losing its mother and being handed off to a new guardian.

"Quiet!" he nervously begged, hoping that the baby would just cry itself back to sleep. Frollo couldn't even remember Jehan being this fussy as a child, which frustrated him even more.

He remembered the defeat that resonated knowing that he could have been rid of the child to the depths of the water well easily had fate not intervened.

_Calm yourself, Claude,_ he thought. _Remember that _you_ are in control._

Frollo focused on trying to regain his composure and less of the crying that grated his ears, leading him to fall back on what he usually did when faced with a challenge:

"_Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. _

_"Adveniat regnum tuum. _

_"Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra._"

Suddenly the crying had become quieter. When Frollo looked back at Quasimodo, the boy gazed up at him in awe with his dark blue eyes.

The Minister was shocked that this tactic had such an effect. Without hesitation, he continued:

"_Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis_

_"Debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. _

_"Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen._"

Steadying himself, the judge watched as the infant's eyes shut and rested his head in the crook of his guardian's elbow.

For some unknown reason, Frollo was captivated by the sight of the child now asleep in his arms. Suddenly he was taken back to the days when he had cradled Jehan like such after the deaths of their parents and he was forced to become the parental figure to his brother.

Shaking off these meddlesome memories, he carried Quasimodo back and carefully laid him down in the wooden cradle, relieved over the beautiful sound of silence.

Frollo looked out the window and saw the night was quickly approaching. The headache was pounding and he was exhausted from the first day of repeated parenthood. Without another thought, he shuffled towards the nearby table and took a seat before resting his tired head in his hands.

The Minister wasn't aware of how drained he was until he was surrounded by darkness as he fell into a deep sleep.

***A/n: Jehan's here now...what a little sh*t. I did my research and found out that if there was no wet-nurse available then the babies would use cow horns as a bottle of sorts.**

**Latin translates to the Lord's Prayer**


	3. Manus Dei

"Minister…" a voice said firmly but softly.

Frollo stirred as he felt a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and found that he was still in the top of the bell tower having fallen asleep at the table. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, Frollo saw that it was the dead of night.

He looked up and saw the Archdeacon standing over him. Groggily, the Minister asked, "What is the time?"

"Almost midnight," he replied. "The bells will be ringing soon and I am certain that you would not enjoy sticking around to hear them."

"You are correct." Frollo stood up and stretched.

Augustin looked wearily at the judge before saying, "You know, Claude, this is not the most ideal place to keep a child, what with the deafening sound of the bells constantly. Aren't you the least bit concerned that Quasimodo might one day lose his hearing?"

Frollo sighed in exasperation. "I'm sure that he will grow accustomed to them, Father. Honestly, for a man who felt that _I_ should take the role of the boy's guardian, you seem very set on trying to take the task into your own hands."

"I am only trying to help you, Claude."

"If you wish to assist me, then allow me to have this ungodly creature baptized as soon as possible," he stated authoritatively. "No doubt that the boy is covered in more than just Original Sin; he is probably ripe with witchcraft and sorcery…such wicked practices are most likely the cause of his hideousness."

The Archdeacon rolled his eyes at the Minister's prejudices. "Arrangements can be made for the earliest convenience, but that depends: do you plan on inviting many people to this event?"

"Good Lord, never!" he answered. "I want this boy to be seen by others as little as possible. Best not to make a spectacle by exploiting his deformity. No, it should be the most private of events–not even my brother shall be invited."

Frollo rubbed at his tired eyes and concluded, "We can tend to such matters later, Father, for I believe that I should be returning to the Palace of Justice."

"Another time then, Claude," Augustin replied.

Picking up and dusting off his chaperon, Frollo left swiftly, anxious to get out of this place which now felt suffocating. Outside he was greeted eagerly by his horse, the judge casually apologizing for their prolonged stay.

As he rode back, the night air was cold but oddly refreshing, accompanied by the silence of the sleeping city. It was bliss as opposed to the on and off again sound of crying that the Minister had endured throughout the day. In the background Notre Dame's midnight bells tolled loudly, breaking the silence.

Soon the ominous and imposing castle that was the Palace of Justice came into view, like an oasis against the tiresome day that had just concluded.

After taking his horse back to the Palace's stables, Frollo entered the great building, relieved at the quiet, peaceful tranquility as he climbed the steps to his chambers.

Running his hand through his hair, Frollo could only think about the day's events in exhaustion.

Was this really what his life was to be now? Juggling between being a prisoner of forced fatherhood, pestered endlessly by Jehan, along with trying to keep Paris in check?

_You can endure,_ he reassured himself. _The Lord will reward you for your service; it is all a part of His plan._

Reaching his chambers, Frollo was pleased to find only the fireplace lit, giving him solace in this night. However, the pain lingered on as he contemplated every nagging thought of his situation.

Frollo had reveled in his position of Minister of Justice not only for the power and influence it brought, but also because he knew that unlike most nobles, there was no one bothering him to commit to a family. Thankfully, his only familial obligation was to his brother; now the burden of having an unwanted son weighed heavily on the Minister.

Looking up at the iron crucifix that hung imposingly above the mantle of the fireplace, his expression changed from one of weariness to one of rage. Marching forward, he collapsed to his knees in front of the fire and cried out in a suffering tone, "What have I done to deserve this?!"

The judge buried his face in his hands and rocked back and forth pathetically. Fighting every urge to sob like a child, Frollo continued his pleas at the downcast messiah above him.

"I have always followed Your word above everyone else's. I have done Your bidding my entire life–everything I have done has been in _Your_ name, Lord!" His breathing became erratic and his body trembled with anger.

"How many trials must You put me through to prove my faith?" He asked, slamming his hands against the floor's hard surface, his rings clanking against the stone in response.

On all fours, the Minister gazed at the open fire in front of him. Ignoring the stinging burn that built up in eyes, Frollo crawled back a bit as he imagined the bowels of Hell manifesting before him while he continued to stare at the flames.

Rising shakily, he stared at Christ again in woe before asking, "Do You test me in the way of Job? Do You doubt my faith? Hoping to see if I hold my integrity even against the most trying of times?"

Frollo straightened a bit before continuing, "Anything else would have been more bearable, but a _child?!_"

He bit his lip as he thought of the words that just tumbled from his mouth.

Turning away, Frollo shuffled towards a nearby wooden dresser and began to remove his gown, followed by his tunic to reveal his pale, white skin. Taking a set of keys from his pocket, he opened one of the drawers and pulled out a black leather scourge.

Throughout the judge's upbringing, he had been taught that the only way to instill a lesson into a person's mind was through severe punishment, no matter how deep the scars ran.

_If I am to suffer, so be it._

With the scourge in hand, Frollo walked back towards the fireplace and addressed the crucifix, "_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen._" After crossing himself, he kneeled again and began to recite his prayers, "_Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor, quia peccando…_" As the words poured from his lips, the anger continued to bubble up inside him. "_…de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum. Amen._"

Taking a deep breath, Frollo raised the scourge and flung it quickly behind him, striking his back. He cried out at the leather tips' sting upon the map of faded scars that he had carried on him since he was a child.

Hissing sharply, Frollo whipped himself again, biting back his cries from the infliction.

With each laceration, the judge could feel the memories of childhood abuses rushing back to him: vision after vision of punitive injuries as a boy at the hands of his father in order to keep him in line.

Crimson blood streamed down his alabaster skin like rain drops as he continued whip after whip. Once again the Minister's body shook in anguish, every nerve in him begging to stop such torment only for Frollo to ignore such instincts.

Holding himself on his hands, the judge arched his back up and stretched the open wounds as further abuse. Groaning from the straining affliction, he looked up at the flames dancing in front of him in the fireplace.

_Atonement,_ he thought regrettably. Tiredly and devoutly he reminded himself, _Discipline yields the fruit of righteousness to those trained by it._

Frollo gritted his teeth and stood up, ready to strike again.

X

At the crack of dawn, the Minister opened his red-rimmed eyes at the rising sun outside his window. Raising himself up, Frollo winced a little the fresh scars that adorned his backside, which were clumsily bandaged but still enough to allow proper healing.

When he examined himself in the mirror of the washroom, he was shocked to see that dark circles were now forming under his slate-gray eyes. He sighed at this and splashed his face with water from the basin. Like clockwork, he began preparing for another long day.

Upon reaching Notre Dame, he automatically collected the fresh bucket of milk that Augustin had left for him in the church's kitchens before treading up the winding staircase to the bell tower, where upon reaching he was greeted by the harsh pitch of the baby's cry.

Running a hand over his face, he thought, _Back into the fray._

Stoically, the Minister went through the typical routine of childcare: feeding, changing, put the child to sleep. It was barely the second day of this new routine and already Frollo was sick of the fact that he would have to return later to check in on Quasimodo, dreading how time-consumingly aggravating it was by robbing him of much of the day that he preferred to spend patrolling the city.

Judging by the sunlight hidden behind the winter clouds, the day was still young and there was much to be done.

Taking another look, Frollo made sure that Quasimodo was fast asleep before gliding down the steps and heading for the church doors.

_"Claude!"_

Sighing, the Minister turned around to see the Archdeacon approaching him. "What is it now?" Frollo asked harshly. "I cannot have my work being constantly disrupted with more distractions!"

Ignoring the judge's snappish attitude, Augustin pressed on. "Excuse me, _Your Honor_, but I believe it was _you_ that instructed me to make arrangements for the child's baptism 'as soon as possible.' I only mean to inquire the details of your plans."

In pure irritation and exasperation, and without a logical thought, Frollo suddenly blurted out, "Tonight then! Baptize the child tonight! Now that this issue has been sorted out, I cannot afford to waste any more time than I already have here! I must be on my way and ensure that the city is in plausible condition!" With that said, Frollo marched forward out the doors before slamming them with a thunderous boom.

How frustrated he was; his whole world was tilted on its axis that he could not keep calm for the life of him. He prayed that a quiet patrol day could ease the stress that was eating away at him as he headed toward his horse who whinnied anxiously upon his master's return.

However, before he could pull himself on top of the mighty steed, an unknown voice called out, _"Minister Frollo!"_

Annoyed enough as he was, Frollo reluctantly turned around to see a man in an expensive looking green cloak nearing.

"Monsieur Poussepain," Frollo addressed with feigned politeness. The man, Denis Poussepain, was a renowned doctor among the Parisian nobility. His son, Robin, was a known troublemaker…and (much to the Minister's chagrin) Jehan's best friend; many times over when Frollo received a letter of complaint regarding Jehan's behavior in school, it was not uncommon for Robin's name to be mentioned for being involved.

"What can I do for you today?" Frollo asked.

"I just wanted to bestow my congratulations upon your foray into fatherhood! I must say that I do admire your mercy for taking in a deformed foundling , and with such a demanding job!" The man beamed.

The Minister went cold and felt as though he was completely exposed. He swallowed and, remaining calm, asked, "I thank you for your kind words, sir. But I must know: how _did_ you happen upon the information of my situation?"

"Why, my Robin came home with the tale from your younger brother about you finding an abandoned, disfigured child and taking it in as your own. My wife wept at the tale, she was so touched and impressed at your initiative–not that we have ever doubted you, Minister!"

"My brother, hmm?" Frollo kept his tone even and cool, despite the fact that inside he was livid with boiling anger. "Well, I wonder with how many others Jehan has shared such knowledge. I should be going, Doctor, for Paris alone will not rid herself of the evils that walk among us."

"Of course," Poussepain replied. "Ever vigilant, our city is in good hands. Again, congratulations, Minister!"

As the man walked away and Frollo climbed atop his horse, he breathed heavily with fury at Jehan's utter disrespect for what should have been a _private_ matter.

_Idiot!_ He thought as he headed off to perform his duties as Minister of Justice.

***a/n: Really had to channel Silas from the da Vinci code for the self-flagellation thing, which was fun. Had a busy week with a lab report, rhetoric stuff, and a health scare, but it's all good now!**

**Thank Kamelot's new song "Veil of Elysium" for motivating me to finish this chapter (gonna see them in May!)**

**Let's see how Jehan's gonna handle his big bro's wrath...**

**Latin: Catholic Act of Contrition prayer**

**R/R!**


	4. Conflict of Interest

Unfortunately for the Minister, the rest of the day did not go over as smoothly as he hoped: there were quarrels to be settled among townsfolk, wrongdoers to be arrested, and of course more paperwork to be done. Sadly, there was no time in Frollo's busy schedule to oversee any torture in the Palace's dungeons either.

The late winter snow had lightened a bit and the sun peaked through the white sky, much to his further dismay since it was the dark, gloomy days that ironically brightened the judge's mood. However, today was not one of those days.

Frollo was tired and aggravated beyond belief with Jehan's disregard for keeping the story under wraps about his brother's position. He wanted the teenager to suffer the consequences for such negligence.

For this, the Minister seemed more merciless than usual as he sentenced newly acquired criminals to their punishments, especially for gypsies who seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He looked on hatefully at a dark-skinned man who had been arrested for allegedly attempting to steal from one of his soldiers. "Two weeks in the dungeon!" he declared, receiving a petrified look from the detainee.

"But Your Honor!" the man pleaded. "The crime for stealing is a day in the stocks, isn't it?"

Frollo's face twisted in annoyance at the man's challenge. "For that comment, an additional week is to be added." With that he waved the guards away to lead the man out as he scribbled over the piece of parchment in front of him.

From one of the sole windows of the court room, the judge could see that dusk was approaching and it would be best to call it a day.

"Court dismissed." He gathered up the documents scattered around his judicial bench and put on his hat before exiting. All the while his blood boiled with absolute fury in anticipation.

X

Jehan casually strolled up the steps to the heavy doors of the Palace of Justice; a soldier had come to him earlier with a message saying that the Minister of Justice requested to see him that evening after the last court finished session. The boy figured that he was just going to be chided over another complaint from school, so there was no reason to fear his brother, the judge.

He sauntered through the sinister atmosphere of the Palace without an ounce of fear that most would have felt upon entering. Arriving at the Minister's study, Jehan pounded loudly on the door, easily announcing his presence.

"Enter," the low voice from inside called.

"Good evening, brother," Jehan greeted charmingly as he walked into the study and found Frollo poring over a dozen pieces of parchment.

Frollo's study was an eerily dark room whose walls were aligned with careworn books and various maps. Behind the cluttered wooden desk was a bronze crucifix, whose downcast expression seemed to bore holes into the back of the Minister's skull. The few candles that illuminated the room increased the ever present feeling of the danger in the judge's lair.

"Close the door," Frollo simply responded as he stood up from his desk. He walked to the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back and wearing an indifferent expression on his face. He was further irritated with the fact that Jehan had obviously spent his allowance on another new outfit.

"Come here," he instructed coldly as he narrowed his eyes at his younger brother, his breathing now deep and enraged. Behind him, the rings on his right hand dug deep into his skin as his fists clenched tightly.

Trying to hide a smirk of amusement, Jehan shuffled towards him while attempting to weave an excuse for whatever complaint that Frollo might have received from the University. "Claude, if this is about my little strife with Edmond Dufour, I swear to you that it wasn't-"

Jehan's explanation was cut short by his brother's hands gripping his collar and slamming him violently against the stone wall, his knuckles pushing into Jehan's throat.

"You think yourself _amusing_ going around and heralding _my _personal affairs to the public?!" Frollo breathed furiously. "Does the concept of _privacy_ mean anything to you?! Especially with the fact that _I_ am the keeper of this city?"

With a violent fire in his eyes, Frollo bared his teeth and flared his nostrils. His knuckles turned white by his deadly grip on Jehan. He could kill the boy right then and there he was raging with so much anger!

"Claude! I…" Jehan choked out while trying to release his brother's firm hold on him.

"Do you understand the precariousness of this situation that you have put me in? What if the King hears about this?" He shook the boy with wrath, rattling his head furiously. "I could lose my position if he decides not to show clemency! No doubt that soon the whole aristocracy will hear of it, thanks to you!" Without another thought, Frollo tossed Jehan forcefully to the ground, leaving the young man sprawling and choking for air.

"Listen to me, Jehan," Frollo growled, pointing an accusing finger towards his brother. "It would be in your best interest _not_ to recount this story further to anyone else. Do you understand?"

Jehan looked at Frollo with terror in his bright blue eyes. "Claude, I'm sorry," he said meekly. "I didn't know you would be so sensitive over something like this."

"_Sensitive?!_" his brother repeated, reaching out to seize him by his arm. "I have enough matters to deal with without having to worry about being publicly mortified by my younger brother. I need to keep this story as quiet as possible, and so do _you_."

Frollo lowered himself closer to Jehan who was still on the floor, afraid to get up. In a dangerous voice he said, "Remember: if the King discovers this news, I can only pray that he will understand. If _you_ cause any more damage by continuing to spread this story, _I _will _not_ be so forgiving. Are we clear?"

Jehan fearfully nodded his head and Claude reluctantly offered his hand to help him up. If it were not a matter of principle, he would have easily killed the boy.

Frollo cleared his throat as he regained his calm demeanor. "As for whatever quarrel you might have subjected yourself to, I have already ordered you to cease with such childish fights, Jehan. They carry absolutely no benefit whatsoever and are a waste of time that you could be using to actually _study_ as you should be doing. I went to great lengths to get you into the University, and I do not wish for you to squander such an advantage by getting expelled one day!"

Jehan rolled his eyes at his brother's words. "I know, I know. Is that all for today, _Father_?"

Frollo sighed and shook his head in exasperation. "Do not take my words lightly. For if you choose to ignore them, you will indeed suffer the consequences."

"Don't worry, Claude. The University wouldn't _dare_ expel the Minister of Justice's brother," he reassured as he approached the severe faced man. "I am virtually untouchable!" He clapped Frollo hard on the back, the elder brother hissing at the stinging tenderness.

Jehan could only laugh a little at his brother's pain, completely unaware of the wounds underneath. "Getting old are we? Can't take a friendly strike?"

Frollo glared hatefully at the boy. "Just get out of my office," he said firmly, his tone causing Jehan to back away.

"I must be on my way since my presence is required elsewhere," Frollo said calmly as he crossed to the large window of the room.

"Big plans for tonight?" Jehan asked mischievously with his hand on the door handle.

"Strictly official matters that I must attend to, none of which is any of your business." Frollo looked out the window and stared regretfully at the cathedral looming in the distance.

Jehan shrugged. "If you say so. Now before you send me away, would you at least send me along with some money for dinner, lest you want your brother to starve?" He pulled an innocent smile for extra measure.

"Fine," Frollo tiredly replied, pinching the bridge of his nose before going to retrieve a coin purse from his desk and tossing it to his brother. "Now leave," he ordered.

Jehan smiled and nodded before saying with feigned gratitude, "Much obliged!"

After the boy left, Frollo circled his temples in annoyance.

_What am I going to do with that ungrateful leech? _He thought as he rubbed the back of his neck. In that moment, Frollo knew that Quasimodo would never be like that good for nothing brother of his. Rather, he would raise him to be entirely grateful and loyal to his provider.

Frollo had considered different ideas of how to set his brother straight in the past. He had thought about disowning Jehan, but then again it might only cause more damage to their family name than there already was. Their name to which he as a student tried to reclaim some honor after a life of shame resulting from the unfavorable reputation his father held; shame that was reborn as soon as Jehan entered school and made it perfectly clear that he had no interest in higher education.

Placing his hat atop his head, Frollo made way for the door and down the Palace's grand staircase towards the entrance.

X

Augustin handed the candle over to the Minister who also held Quasimodo in the other arm, swaddled in traditional white baptism dress. Surprisingly, the boy remained very calm during the ceremony.

The Archdeacon continued the rest of the rite. "_Accipe lampadem ardentem, et irreprehensibilis custodi Baptismum tuum_ _ serva Dei mandata ut cum Dominus venerit ad nuptias…_"

The nave of the church was almost completely empty had it not been for the presence of the Minister, Quasimodo, Father Augustin, and a handful of monks. But the judge was dead serious about the event being extremely private and without an audience. In fact, it was very reminiscent of his brother's own baptism in the quality of exclusiveness.

"_Vade in pace et Dominus sit tecum_. Amen."

"Amen," Frollo unemotionally repeated.

Even though Quasimodo was now considered a follower and child of God, Frollo could still not bring himself to fully embrace him as such; in his eyes, the boy was still a grotesque monstrosity that he could not find in his heart to wholly adopt as his own. Quasimodo, however, seemed to completely accept the unwilling Minister as his new father.

Frollo brushed some of the boy's red hair away from his bad eye as he looked up at stern faced judge. He gasped in alarm when the baby wrapped his small hand around his finger, unnerved by such a gesture. A small pang of warmth swept through him as the child held onto him.

"In all the years I have known you, Claude, I would never have foreseen this image."

Frollo snatched his hand away from the tiny creature's grasp and faced the priest. "What image?" Frollo asked.

"I would never have thought that one day you would be here for the baptism of your own child, Minister."

"Nor would I," he monotonously replied. "If I had, I would have thought that at least the child would actually be _my own_, and legitimate." Guiltily, he looked away when Quasimodo's teal eyes met his, averting his gaze to some far side of the church.

A small smile touched the Archdeacon's face before asking, "You mean with _her?_"

The judge froze and shuddered as he fought back the distant memories that he had tried to keep buried for years. A sharp anger suddenly built up inside him.

"Do you ever think about her, Claude?" Augustin asked quietly. "Don't you ever miss Cele-"

"_Never say that wench's name_!" Frollo roared as he turned back around to the priest, his face intense with hateful ferocity. "_Ever!_"

His fierce response echoed throughout the massive church, causing some of the retreating monks to spin around in surprise. Even Quasimodo cried out in fear from Frollo's powerful voice, eliciting an irate growl from the Minister.

Frollo glared icily at Augustin, whose expression was one of shock at such an outburst. True, Claude Frollo was known for a short temper, but even he was able to keep calm when challenged or angered.

Without another word, Frollo whipped around, abruptly leaving the nave and marching up the bell tower with the crying baby in his arms. After such a nerve-wracking day, the last thing the judge wanted to do was confront his inner demons.

***a/n: Okay, bear with me, this chapter was not the easiest to write; it was initially going to be a lot shorter. It may not be my best work, but right now it's what I can muster up since I've been in a lot of pain from anxiety.**

**Btw: I really want to do a flashback scene somewhere, but I'm not entirely sure how it can be done, so b on the lookout for that.**

**But anyway, R/R and if you have any questions, feel free to ask.**


	5. King of Fools

From his desk Frollo sat idly and watched the flames of the fireplace burn for what seemed like an eternity. For the past few days the Minister had scarcely left his study, busying himself with paperwork and writing orders to his soldiers, hardly speaking to anybody.

When he did leave his chambers, it was only to Notre Dame to check in on Quasimodo, all the while keeping to himself. He blocked out all other human existence from his sensory receptors and was always absorbed in his own unhappy thoughts.

He was not in the right state of mind, as in not his usual stern, unyielding self. In these last days, the Minister felt like a shell of the man he presented himself as. Not only his mind, but his body was suffering as well: night after night he spent flogging himself and tearing his skin open to distract himself from mental agony. Combined with his now unkempt appearance, complete with dark gray stubble and under eye circles, Frollo closely resembled the prisoners that dwelled in the dungeons below his quarters.

Ever since the boy's baptism, Frollo was unsure of how he should be feeling; he was confused on whether he should hate the child even more for now being in the same spiritual league as him, or compassionate now that Quasimodo would now be officially seen as his son.

Frollo was especially rattled by the Archdeacon's questions; for over sixteen years, nobody had ever asked about the prior relationship he had with that gypsy girl. He went through his daily life always avoiding thinking about the emotional damage that scarred his soul, the result of heartbreak that never left. Especially since the grudge he held against her kind was the product of such hurt. Augustin's words reignited those old bitter feelings of lost love that had tortured him many times over.

Since that night, Frollo had painfully been visited by memories of childhood mischief and days spent together with her that would leave him sleepless and angry with himself for revisiting such times. It left him hateful at the entire gypsy race with every fiber of his being as he watched them from above inhabiting the streets of the city he loved.

But also resentful that the Archdeacon was right: Frollo held such contempt for Quasimodo because in his youth he had foolishly envisioned such a ceremony for his real child…by her, not some poor soul to be burdened with.

The voice in the torn judge's head nagged him endlessly.

_Embrace him as your own…the church has declared him as such anyway._

_But he is only a gypsy! A heathen spawned by mangy street urchins!_

_Was she not a gypsy too?_ The voice retorted. _Remember how much you loved her? Protect the boy in her name._

_You know that you have never forgiven yourself for what you said to her._

He sneered at the conscience which decided that now of all times would be to reason with him.

_Penance not only to God,_ he thought. _But to her as well._

Harshly, Frollo clamped his hands to the sides of his head and dug his nails into his skin, as though trying to prevent any more aggravating thoughts from entering his mind. He despised the sentimental logic that his conscience threw at him. It left him feeling vulnerable and weak–emotions that he instantly abhorred, especially when he saw his vision blur from tears building up. Wiping his eyes dry, Frollo pushed his hands into his hair and exhaled deeply as he tried to steel himself from falling too deep into a full-fledge nervous breakdown.

These inner arguments with himself buzzed around in his head obnoxiously, causing more painful headaches by the hour.

All of these conflicting thoughts and memories had prevented him from carrying out his normal routine, instead wanting as little human interaction as possible. Even though he was a man who liked to stay on routine, Frollo could barely find it in his heart to go out and face the world more than he had to.

It wasn't until a message from the Captain of the Guard reminding him that the sixth of January was approaching soon that Frollo was reeled back to the world before him. He regretfully remembered what that day meant to the city of Paris.

_Damn it,_ he thought bitterly. _Another year of this peasant absurdity!_

This spiral of depression picked the worst time to strike the judge.

Tiredly, he straightened himself up and tried to regain the iron-willed demeanor he needed in order to face such a task.

Frollo reminded himself that he would need to be fully focused on keeping everything running smoothly during the dreaded Feast of Fools…a day that he had held great disdain for ever since he was a boy. And in recent years, Jehan had turned it into another spectacle that he could use as an excuse to embarrass his older brother in front of the citizens of Paris.

Reading over the message again, Frollo made a realization: _It's a mere day away!_

Almost instantaneously, he took a piece of parchment and a quill and began to scribble down orders and instructions.

X

The morning of the Festival had arrived and Frollo reluctantly peeled himself out of bed and prepared to take on the day. He might have made purging the city free of sinners his personal goal, but the Feast of Fools had proved to be a battle in itself what with more crime and debauchery. How the King could even allow for this immoral lunacy was beyond him.

After throwing on his black cloak and adjusting his hat, Frollo made his way outside to the carriage waiting in front of the Palace of Justice.

During the rickety journey to the square, Frollo went over his mental notes repeatedly to ready himself for madness that laid ahead.

_Hopefully Jehan will not cause any more commotion than need be,_ he prayed.

Soon the sound of hundreds of voices could be heard, becoming deafening as soon as he stepped out of the carriage. The square burst with color and music, streamers and performers as far as the eye could see. Most of the citizens already reeked of alcohol and enjoyed the merriment.

Frollo motioned for his Captain to come forward. "Captain Gerard, remember: any disruption of peace and sign of lawlessness—take care of it!" he fiercely stated. "And if you run across my brother, report him to me _immediately!_" He added before heading up towards his designated seating area.

"Yes sir!" the tall burly man responded before dispatching his men into the crowds.

Frollo scanned around the ocean of happy, drunken Parisians in a fruitless attempt to seek out his curly-haired brother. The sight and feeling of being surrounded by peasants by almost agoraphobic, and on top of that, Jehan was on the loose up to who knows what? Anything could happen.

As the festivities kicked off, the city was captivated by the endless amounts of entertainers, from jesters to fire eaters, stilt walkers and dancers. Frollo, however, drummed his fingers on the arm rest of his chair anxiously with eyes shifting left and right, still trying to find Jehan. He attempted to distract himself by ordering guards to anywhere that indicated a crime in progress.

_You are making yourself paranoid,_ he thought to himself.

He wouldn't be acting paranoid if only he knew where his brother was. He fidgeted nervously until he heard a voice call, "Minister! We've located your brother!"

Leaping to his feet, Frollo quickly replied, "Lead me to him," and followed Gerard.

Elbowing harshly through the merry crowd of festival-goers, Frollo pleaded internally, _Jehan, you had better not be doing anything idiotic…_

The Captain motioned to a group of chagrined looking scantily-clad women standing about, stopping before them. His brother, however, was still nowhere to be found.

"Well?" Frollo asked irritably. "If you have indeed located Jehan, then where is he?!"

The Captain looked a bit embarrassed at the question. "Sir, please. He was right here when I left him. I found him with this lot here."

Frollo's sights rested on these women, causing him to twist his face in annoyance. "What has he done this time?" he asked them.

"The blond kid?" one of the rounder ones asked. "He tried to get some time with a few of us, but said he would pay up later. Something about going to find his brother for money. As soon as your guard coming, he took off, to where, we don't know."

Frollo sighed in exasperation. "Helpful to the last detail," he sarcastically said. Turning to the Captain Gerard, he darkly said to him, "I want him found _at once!_"

All of a sudden, the volume of the crowd seemed to increase as they broke out into unison cheers. Frollo looked across the sea of people at the center stage where colorfully attired jesters and peasants now lined up. Though the master of cermonies's energetic voice was inaudible in the throng of spectators, the judge knew that the festival had reached its height and the time that everyone looked forward to: the crowning of the King of Fools.

As the crowd rejected hopeful contestants who attempted their "ugliest" face, it was then that Frollo saw in the midst of the mob of people a mass of blond curls and began to rush toward the figure.

His journey was cut short by more onlookers packing tighter together, making it impossible to get through. He cursed the awful timing in finally finding his brother.

"Jehan!" the Minister shouted loudly, hoping that miraculously the teen would hear him.

The laughter and insults from the peasant folk grated his ears as they continued to watch the event onstage.

_Damn this idiocy! Simple-minded imbeciles, celebrating something so vile as worshipping one who can present themselves as the biggest dolt._

The volume again reached another peak when the mass applauded a warty, heavy-set man (a city grave-digger) as their king. Words of admiration and disgust filled the atmosphere.

_"He's repulsive!"_

_"Absolutely wretched!"_

_"A sight to behold!"_

Frollo rolled his eyes at their amusement before turning back to scan through the crowd. But it was becoming increasingly difficult with more people closing in and blocking his view. Most were either too drunk or too distracted to notice the Minister of Justice among them. Nevertheless, he pushed and shoved through the throngs of people.

"What's that kid doing?!" a spectator called out, causing the judge to stop and direct his attention towards center stage.

Frollo's jaw dropped and he paled in horror as he witnessed his younger brother clambering up onto the stage, much to the confusion of the presenters and audience alike.

Jehan wore a stupid, intoxicated smile on his red face and was barely balanced, instead swaying back and forth a little.

"Good citizens of Paris, please!" he announced, waving his arms to draw the attention on him. "_This_ is not how you crown the King of Fools!"

The Minister was frozen in place as he watched Jehan, too stunned to even think about what was happening. He could only watch his brother make a fool of himself in front of the entire city.

The boy grinned as he continued his speech. "You don't pick a King of Fools by the hideousness of his face; you should be crowning the biggest moron this city has to offer!"

For some reason the crowd was too entertained to drag him away from the stage, instead wanting him to go on, much to Frollo's dismay. He still pushed further towards the stage which now felt like a million miles away in such a vast amount of people.

"Take my brother for example!" Jehan said, Frollo stopping immediately where he was and again looked to his brother above. "He has to keep watch over this _whole_ city, and he decided to adopt a small demon as his own! As you can see, my brother is both the Minister of Justice _and_ an idiot!"

Many of the audience members turned their attention to the judge who they now barely noticed was with them. Most of them backed away as they saw Frollo's face was livid with anger as he marched toward the stage.

Jehan began to ramble on that he was a god among mortals, high above the rest of them. A few annoyed jesters and performers climbed up onstage and attempted to grab hold of him only for him to swat them away.

"You can't touch me!" he slurred. "My brother is the Minister of Justice; he'll have you all hanged for this! Right, Claude?" he asked when he saw the judge striding towards him, teeth bared and fuming with rage.

"Tell these commoners that they can't do a thing-" Frollo gripped him tightly by the arms and wordlessly dragged him away down the steps. "You look like hell," he commented and laughed, Frollo paying no attention to him.

"Captain!" The Minister called violently, ignoring the frightened onlookers who stared at the brothers.

Gerard and more soldiers arrived swiftly and awaited the Minister's orders. "Take this miserable lout back to the Palace of Justice at once!" He cast a heated glance to the dazed teenager, still locked in his brother's iron-like grip. "I will deal with you later…" he warned ominously before shoving Jehan towards the guards.

The crowd fell dead silent as the Minister climbed to the platform once more, his face stone-like and indifferent as he faced the city. Blood roared in his ears and forgot all pretense of keeping the festival running smoothly.

"This festival is OVER!"

X

Frollo ordered his men to lock up Jehan in the Palace's dungeons; he had decided that after such an episode, he would not further spoil the boy by locking in him inside one the building's many guest rooms.

The judge had spent the rest of the day going through hearings for those arrested during the festivities. Admittingly, most of the sentences he ordered seemed a bit of excessive, but that was to be expected since he was still shaking with boiling anger. Because of that, Frollo decided that if he went and saw his brother immediately, he probably would have done something regrettable.

Signing the last sentence, Frollo sighed in exhaustion from the dreadfully long day. But he knew that it was time to go and check on his brother, even though it pained him to do so.

He tiredly made his way down to dimly-lit and bitingly cold dungeon, quickly ordering the warden to show him to his brother.

"When we locked him up earlier. He mostly just kicked and screamed a lot, sir," the man explained. "But he tired himself out soon enough; 'spose the booze ran its course, now he's just sleeping it off."

_As he has his entire life,_ Frollo thought bitterly.

Arriving at the isolated cell, the warden was correct that Jehan was still out cold, slumped over against the wall and snoring loudly after a long day of swimming in wine.

"You may take your leave now," Frollo said, the man nodding and heading in the opposite direction leaving the Minister alone.

Frollo looked at his brother and shook his head. "Jehan!" he bellowed.

The blond boy groaned at hearing his brother's voice before picking his head up in the general direction of the Minister. "What is it, Claude?" he asked groggily, rubbing his eyes.

Frollo held his hands behind his back and gritted his teeth. "I hope you're satisfied with what you have done: because of your little stunt, you have humiliated and made a mockery of me in front of the _whole city!_" he hissed.

Rising shakily to his feet, Jehan inched closer to his brother on the other side. "Claude, understand that I wasn't in the right state of mind. I would never have done that at any other given time. It was a mistake and I promise it will not happen again," he said smoothly.

Jehan stretched his arms lazily before saying, "Now, will you please let me out of this cell? I would like to return home to my dormitory."

Frollo narrowed his stone-gray eyes at Jehan and replied, "No. I'm ordering that you be detained here until I say otherwise. No more than a week, I'm sure."

Jehan's expression changed to one of bafflement. "What? _Why?!_"

"You have caused me enough trouble in these past few days, and I believe that some time away from wretched vices and influences will do you some good."

"Claude, you can't do this!" Jehan protested, gripping his hands around the iron bars of the cell.

Frollo smirked at him. "As a matter of fact, I _can_. You seemed to have forgotten who is Minister of Justice and who is _not_."

His brother shook his head in fear of this decision.

"Enjoy your stay," the judge said before turning to leave.

***A/n: Been another busy week or so because of some stupid essay, but I prevailed! Now I'm just worrying about end of the year stuff like GradNight at Disneyland! But enough of that…**

**So here's another episode of the oh so old tale of younger siblings being pains. Jehan really knows how to push his brother's buttons, doesn't he? And as you can see, I love writing about Frollo with emotional problems, like spiraling. I would've updated sooner but my wifi crashed so yeah. Let me know what you think!**


	6. Vermilion

The heavy iron-bar door creaked loudly as the guard swung it open, Frollo stepping forth in front of the cold, dark cell. The whole place was pitch black without the sole illumination of the few torches adorning the stone walls. "Now," he said mockingly. "Have we learned our lesson, Jehan?"

The teen sat in a corner of the tiny cell, hugging his knees to his chest. He glared spitefully at the Minister as he stood up. True to his word, Frollo had ordered for Jehan to be held in the Palace of Justice's dungeons for a week now with the delivery of daily meals serving as his only instances of human interaction (however, the Minister established strict rule against speaking to the prisoner). Needless to say, Jehan had grown painfully bored and resentful towards his brother's position of power.

The boy said nothing as he walked past the judge while exiting the cell. "Come along," he said, leading Jehan out of the bowels of the Palace.

Frollo smiled at the lack of spirit in someone who prided himself over his devil-may-care attitude and reckless lifestyle, relishing in the notion that he might have broken his brother at last.

_Finally this hellion has learned his place,_ the judge thought contently as he walked, Jehan still remaining wordless and keeping his gaze down towards the ground. Frollo had enjoyed his brother's absence this week, savoring that his work was not constantly interrupted by the teen's daily plea for money to waste on disgusting vices.

Upon reaching the front doors of the Palace, Frollo turned to address his brother. "I hope that you remember this experience next time you have the urge to do something so utterly foolish; next time, _think_ before you act, Jehan!"

Without another word, Jehan turned his back to his brother and shuffled out of the Palace of Justice, leaving Frollo to mull over his own thoughts.

X

"…_remissionem peccatorum, carnis resurrectionem, vitam aeternam._ Amen." Quasimodo slept soundly at the Minister's resonating voice as the latter recited his prayers.

Carefully, Frollo placed him back into his cradle before a familiar voice greeted him. "So, has your brother turned over a new leaf since you released him from his sentence?"

Turning towards the Archdeacon, Frollo replied, "Strangely, I haven't heard from him since that day, and I can only hope that he has not reverted back to his old ways, Father." It had been two days since Jehan had left the Palace of Justice from his sentence, not once intruding on his brother's work, which did not sit well with the elder brother.

"Unfortunately, that only implies that he could be out wreaking havoc somewhere," the Minister stated grimly. Bitterly, he then said "He'll never change. And if I had not made such a foolish promise years ago that I would always keep watch over him, I would gladly let him suffer at the hands of the real world," while he gazed out the bell tower towards the black night sky.

"Have faith in your brother, Claude," Father Augustin assured him. "He might be unruly now, but eventually he will grow out of it; you can only guide and encourage him to change his ways, and you know, of course, it is not an easy task. But it will be worth it when the day comes when he thanks you for leading him in the right direction."

Frollo considered these words; it seemed, however, that most of his life consisted of finding Jehan in trouble. How optimistic the judge had been of his little brother's future before, imagining that he would follow in the elder's footsteps and become a promising scholar. However, he was without a doubt disappointed with the end result of his brother's lifestyle.

It would be quite a reward in itself to hear the boy credit his older brother for turning into an upright, productive member of society. Unfortunately, that seemed like an unreachable pipe dream for the long-suffering Minister.

"And if it's any consolation, at least your brother can serve as an example of how _not_ to raise a child," Augustin said.

"Very much so," Frollo replied looking down at the sleeping infant then gently rocking the cradle to prevent it from waking up. "I have sworn to myself that Quasimodo will in no way ever be like him—quite the opposite, in fact. No vices, no rebellion or objection, and only undying gratitude to me."

"That seems a bit excessive," Augustin pointed out. "I'm sure that it would serve you both more if you were just not as distant and lenient as with your brother."

"I don't care. I would rather Quasimodo be a quiet, reclusive subordinate than a reincarnation of Jehan." Frollo's tone of voice indicated no trace of clemency, only that he was dead serious about his plan.

Clasping his hands patiently, the Archdeacon simply responded, "I see. As you wish, Minister. I suppose you should be heading back to the Palace of Justice since it's late."

Picking up his hat from the nearby table, Frollo nodded and headed out without another word.

As he rode his horse along the dimly-lit streets of Paris, Frollo took note of all of the drunks, strumpets, and beggars that adorned the streets and alleyways. These characters made him increasingly curious as to what Jehan had been up to in the time that he did not come to solicit money from him.

_Perhaps his little gambling vice has finally rewarded him with what he deserved,_ he sadistically hoped. If he were to receive a report that his brother had been injured (or worse) by one of his many enemies to whom he owed money, Frollo would show some remorse for the only family member he had left, but not enough to embark on some city-wide vendetta against Jehan's attackers.

Still, his absence raised questions in the judge's head.

_What could that boy be up to?_

X

There was a light knock on the door, which was strange to the Minister at this late hour. He called for them to enter as he continued to shuffle through pieces of parchment, not even looking up at who was entering his uninviting study.

"Evening, Claude," Jehan's voice said sweetly.

The judge's head snapped up upon hearing his brother's voice. Keeping his voice steady, he calmly asked, "Where have you been these last few days?"

Jehan shrugged. "Oh, around. Here and there. But you know me, I just can't stay away for too long." His last statement was sprinkled with condescension.

"What on earth could you possibly want at this hour, Jehan?" Frollo asked loathingly, even though he had an idea of what.

The boy smiled and replied, "Fear not, brother, I do not seek your patronage at this time."

Frollo raised an eyebrow suspiciously at this response. "Is that so?"

Jehan shook his head. "No, instead I have brought something for _you_."

The Minister rose from his seat and approached his brother. "And what would that be?" he asked cautiously, instantly detecting no good from this statement.

"Well, I've noticed that the last few weeks have not been easy ones for you. Therefore, _you_ need to loosen up."

Frollo crossed his arms and leaned against his desk, furrowing his brow at Jehan's statement. "'_Loosen up_'? I do not need to "loosen up", since stooping to your level would only encourage an unproductive and unscrupulous lifestyle, in which you have indulged enough of for the both of us."

"Please," Jehan said, rolling his eyes. "You're wound too tight. You could use one night to help you get through all this stress. Believe me when I say I know what happens to a man when he doesn't relax once in a while."

"Humor me then, little brother. If you wish for me to go along with your proposition, by what means would this task be carried out?"

Jehan's face twisted into a devilish smirk. "I'm glad you asked," before turning back to open the door and popping his head around the corner. "_Pásale!_"

Stepping aside, Jehan was joined by two women—a redhead and ebony-haired one—both with heavy make-up and tight black dresses entering the Minister's domain.

Frollo's eyes widened and expression dropped at the sight. "Wha…What is the meaning of _this?!_"

"Exactly what I explained to you, Claude," Jehan said smugly. "A man needs to let loose every now and again, and by the looks of it, you are in _dire_ need of such a treatment."

Exhaling in disbelief, Frollo then said, "Jehan, how you remedy whatever stressful situations that you find yourself in—_if that's even possible_—is in no way similar to how _I_ handle things. _This_," he motioned towards the quiet, idle women. "Will not help me in the slightest—rather only _worsen_ the state in which I am already! Believe me when I say I know what I am talking about."

The boy gave his brother a confused look. "Are you saying that _you_ have actually had experience with women?" he asked jokingly.

Keeping a straight face, the judge vaguely answered, "My past actions are my own burden to bear, and are none of your concern."

True enough, Claude Frollo was not a man who enjoyed sharing information about himself, even to his own brother, fearing that the boy might use such knowledge for the wrong reasons. He was as much of a mystery to Jehan as he was to the rest of the city, but fortunately for the Minister, Jehan was too self-centered to care.

"Jehan, I am not asking you, I am _ordering_ you to get these harlots out of my home _now!_" he said, raising his voice.

His brother crossed his arms and smirked at him. "So the Minister _does_ have a weakness then?"

"What are you talking about?" Frollo asked.

"A man's weakness can also be his only medicine," Jehan elaborated. "I see that in your case, it's _women_."

Frollo's mouth went dry as his brother's implications were heading toward a subject that he did not want to discuss.

Placing his hand on his brother's shoulder, Jehan said, "Go ahead, Claude. Just because you're Minister of Justice doesn't mean that you have to deprive yourself of _all_ of the earthly pleasures that God gave mankind. Unless, of course, you're not man enough."

Frollo frowned at his brother's prodding. Looking again at these two now impatient looking women, the Minister suddenly felt a burning in his lower region, the temptation kicking in.

"Think about it," his brother continued. "You have enough work to last you a lifetime, and now you have a son to care for. Don't you think you deserve one night to forget about that and enjoy a little _carnal pleasure?_"

The torn judge thought about it for a few moments. Would it really be the end of the world to give into the sins of flesh for one night? He had no commitment or archdeacon looming over him to remind him of his wrongdoings, and Jehan would not mock him for breaking his religious dogma.

_Don't you remember the effects of those previous times?_ His mind protested.

_Unfortunately, every day._

Still…how often would he get this chance again? The aching in his breeches certainly had no objections. He could still hear Quasimodo's screeching cries; still see the contorted, angry faces of those he sentenced for their disregard of the law; the endless parchment scraps of reports from petty to major crimes; and of course the never-ending migraines and stress headaches—_it was overwhelming!_

_Maybe one night…_

Any other time, the Minister would have easily resisted and stood his ground. However, the feeling below was becoming unbearable. He took a deep breath before asking, "Which one?"

Jehan's eyebrows shot up in complete surprise of his brother's compliance and grinned widely. "Take your pick, I've already paid for both of them."

Frollo was slightly unsettled by their silence and stoic demeanors. "Do they even understand what I am saying?"

The teen shook his head. "Not really. They just traveled here from Spain." It was fortunate enough that Jehan had picked up Spanish in his time of drinking with countless travelers.

Frollo looked longingly at the one whose black hair cascaded around her tan shoulders and bright blue eyes bore into his own gray ones. "That one," he said nodding in her direction.

Jehan pointed to her, "_Ven aquí._"

The woman studied the Minister intensely, which did not make him feel any more comfortable about this situation. Raising an eyebrow slightly, she smiled a little while examining him.

Jehan muttered somehing to her, to which she nodded in understanding. "Alright, she's all yours," he said, giving her a small push towards the judge.

The woman took hold Frollo's arm lightly, quickly causing his heartbeat to increase. Slightly trembling, the judge led her out of his study and down the hall towards his own chambers. The air around him suddenly felt colder as it contrasted with the heat building up inside of him.

Opening the door, Frollo motioned for the woman to go inside, after which he followed and immediately locked it.

As soon as he faced her, he froze as he watched her begin to shimmy out of the black dress. The burning sensation underneath urged him to follow suit, swiftly pulling his robe off and discarding it uncaringly.

X

Keeping his back to her, Frollo quickly tied the strings of his hose and promptly stated, "You may go now."

Sitting up, the woman gave him a salacious smirk and said, "_Ya terminaste?_"

Picking up the black robe on the floor, he turned to her and yelled, "Leave!" pointing to the door.

Despite not knowing at all what the Minister was saying, the woman could take a hint, swinging herself out of his bed and swiftly rearranging her clothes in the proper manner.

When she exited, he continued to dress himself, until a thought occurred to him: _What were you thinking?!_

How could he have made such grievous error in judgment? Better yet, how could he have taken the offer from _Jehan_ of all people?

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, the Minister rested his face in his hands while he contemplated the situation. Once again in his life, he had broken his piety for the urge of the flesh. _How did this happen?!_

Placing his robe back in order and brushing his disheveled hair back, the judge exited his chambers and slowly walked back to his study, where sure enough Jehan sat at his brother's desk with a goblet of wine in hand.

"So," he said playfully. "Enjoy yourself? She certainly seemed to."

Eyes set to the floor, Frollo gravely responded, "It appears that I might have experienced a…_misstep_ in judgment."

Jehan took a long sip from his goblet before saying, "I know," smiling diabolically.

Raising his gaze and narrowing his eyes at his brother, Frollo asked, "You '_know_'?"

Jehan rose to his feet. In a strangely serious voice, he said, "And _that_ was for putting me away in the dungeons."

"You _blackmailed_ me?!" The bewildered judge said viciously, feeling his blood boiling.

"You really do underestimate me, Claude. But yes, I could use it to my advantage and now we're even, but I won't. And I did do you a favor; if that whore thought you were good, then it couldn't have been that bad, right?"

Suddenly that satisfied smirk on his face disappeared as his brother grabbed his wrists in a blur, pinning them to the top of his desk, before reaching for the dagger that hung on his belt, which he raised to Jehan's throat.

"I have had enough of your interference with my personal life!" he said harshly, Jehan's attempts to escape futile. "I am not afraid to kill you, Jehan—in fact, I feel as though I should right now. Your demise would easily save me from most of the future trouble that you will no doubt perpetrate."

Knowing that he was no match for Claude's strength, Jehan blubbered pathetically, begging his brother for forgiveness.

With remorseless eyes, Frollo watched his brother writhe and plead for his life. This really was a new low for Jehan.

Eyes rolling and sighing, the Minister then said, "I will cut you a deal."

Jehan's terror-stricken blue eyes welled with tears, much to his brother's disgust, as he looked up at Frollo in hope. "Anything, brother! Whatever you say!"

_For your sake, I hope so, inconsiderate leech._

"First of all, vow that you will never breathe a word of this incident to another soul as long as you live," he authoritatively demanded, the grip on Jehan's wrists becoming crushing.

"I promise I won't!"

"Second, _never_ try to tempt me down the sinful path that you lead. I do not need the fate of my soul imperiled by the likes of you and your vile practices!"

Jehan was taken aback by such an accusation. "To be fair, you didn't have to take her; you could have resisted, but you _didn't_."

"_You_ caused me to sin!" the judge retorted furiously. "You _and_ her! Never again will you lead me to commit such an act!"

"Fine, Claude! I'll agree with whatever twisted logic you possess."

Reluctantly, Frollo released his brother from his grip. Rubbing at his wrists, Jehan glared at the still fuming Minister of Justice before stomping out of his study.

Plopping himself down at his desk solemnly, Frollo internally pleaded, _Dear Lord, why do you do this to me?_

***A/n: I know it's been a while since the last update since I got sidetracked by finals and projects. (And seeing Kamelot in concert which was my birthday present.) Here's to all those who have stuck with the story so far. And kudos and thanks to QueenxofxNo for finding and following me on Tumblr. Pardon my Spanish but just cause I live in a Spanish speaking community doesn't mean I learned**

**Yes, I do get some kind of sick kick from making Frollo suffer in these stories. R/r!**


	7. Answers

By the time word had reached the ears of King Louis XI, the Minister's story had become well-known as an act of charity of him "willingly" adopting a deformed foundling. The whole situation seemed odd given Frollo's infamous reputation of being cold and dedicated solely to his position, prompting the monarch to have the judge summoned to explain himself before him.

Louis XI had only been in power for about a year, but already he had become noted for his crackdown on French bureaucracy; needless to say that the newly-tenured Minister of Justice had thoroughly impressed him with iron-fisted rule.

Despite the King's notoriety for being cunning and sly, Frollo knew that he could somehow outwit the monarch...it was all about finding the right angle. He had been formulating a new version of the night of the incident, counting his blessings that out of the only other two people that were there were either dead or would not dare be questioned by the King. As he sat before the King at Royal Château de Plessis-lez-Tours, the judge remained calm and calculative.

"Judge Frollo," Louis said gruffly. "I know that you are no idiot—far from it! You know that I have the utmost faith in your abilities as Minister of Justice."

"Of course." Remaining stoic, Frollo nodded and kept his hands clasped before him.

"Therefore I must know the logic as to why one of France's most esteemed public officials has decided _now_ of all times to adopt some hellish monstrosity, as I have heard?!"

Frollo remained stone-like as he carefully thought out his response. "Your Majesty," the Minister spoke respectfully. "It appears that the information given did not contain the complete details of my situation."

Louis narrowed his dark eyes at Frollo and replied, "Is that so? Then tell me, Claude, what are these "details" that seem to have slipped my informants' minds?"

"You see, sire, I owe it to this child to take him and raise him as my own."

"And how on earth did that come about, _Minister?_" Louis asked doubtfully.

"Well, the boy's mother was a gypsy—not just any street urchin—but an informant," he blatantly lied. "In order to uncover more underworld villainy committed by their kind, I thought that an inside source would be most beneficial. And you, of course, Your Highness, understand that their kind will do anything for the right price; it is all a matter of negotiating."

"But how did you come to be this thing's caretaker?"

"One of the wench's conditions was that should she meet any tragic ends during the time of our deal that _I_ would look over her child—not to just be placed in the foundlings' bed in front of the church. However, I seemed to have overestimated her abilities, seeing as to how her usefulness came to abrupt stop. And since I am a man of my word, I took the boy in."

Frollo was not so much worried about lying to the monarch as he was that Louis would see through this fabricated tale. He prayed desperately that the man would just believe the story and send him away.

The King raised an eyebrow at the Minister. "How strange that a man so clever would seek assistance from the scum of the earth. Tell me, Your Honor, do you often make arrangements with gypsies?"

Frollo felt his heartbeat quicken but kept himself collected as he explained. "No, sire. But, please understand, that I only carried out this mission for the good of Paris. I would never have made such a pact if she was a fugitive of any kind. Given the turn of events that followed afterwards, I would never again attempt to associate with their kind for any other purpose than to decide the fate of their pathetic lives when presented in my court room."

His cool façade hid the nervousness that he would be discovered. _Take the bait, you inbred dolt!_ He prayed.

Louis studied the stern-looking judge and asked, "Will this turn of events compromise your ability to perform as Minister of Justice in any way? I cannot have your work suffering because of a deal gone wrong, Frollo."

He was almost in the clear! Smiling a little at the King's gullibility, he replied, "Rest assured, Your Majesty, that I have done everything in my power to make sure that this boy is in no way a threat to my influence over the city."

Louis nodded trustfully at Frollo's assured attitude. "Very well, Minister. Given your reputable name, I trust your judgment and ability. Besides, I understand that your intentions were for a greater purpose, and I admire that. Using one of their own to conspire against them—nothing that I wouldn't have done!"

_How fortunate to have a ruler that understands,_ Frollo thought sarcastically.

"By the way, Claude," he continued. "I have heard nasty rumors speaking of this child of yours, painting him as a grotesque demon. I must know: how true are these accusations?"

Frollo exhaled at the question, shame overwhelming him for a moment. At any other person's inquiry the Minister would have readily ignored or rejected such prodding; however, when the King asks, the circumstances are much different. Frollo recounted the hideousness of Quasimodo's deformity that he "braved to look at" each day as guardian, King Louis's face twisting in disgust.

"Dear God, Frollo! You've welcomed a _changeling_ into your home?!" He questioned warily. "I hope for your sake that you've cleansed your home to rid it of any remnants of black magic left behind!"

"Believe me, Your Highness; I have done what I can to keep the demon at bay." Frollo smirked with satisfaction that the fool actually bought such a tale.

X

**Months later…**

The air in the bell tower was stale and stuffy, while outside the rest of Paris went about their day in the cool summer air. Much to the Minister's dismay, he was stuck here.

He had worked out a new schedule in the past few months where he would climb up to the top of the bell tower and visit his small hunchbacked ward for an hour in the morning, afternoon, then in the evening.

As usual, he was unenthusiastic about it. Since Quasimodo would no longer sleep for most of the day, the Minister's visit became more prolonged. Frollo would lift the boy out of his cradle and place him on the floor where Quasimodo would sit and take in the surroundings of his home. Frollo had presented the boy with a small clay rattle filled with peas that he had purchased off a peasant, much to the infant's delight (anything to keep him entertained).

Frollo kept his eyes glued to the pages of his book, _Bellifortis,_ an old one of military technology while trying to ignore the obnoxious rattling of the toy. Reading always was able to take his mind off most _undesirable_ situations he found himself in.

Though Frollo was certain of his suspicion that the boy might be some hell-spawn demon, even he could not deny that Quasimodo possessed that same innocence that reminded him of his little brother all those years ago. Despite the unsightly lump of an eye, the protruding hump on his back, and mess of red hair, the judge would find himself captivated at times. Something about the tiny hunchbacked child's wonderment of the simple bell tower would briefly cause the Frollo's heart to swell before quickly turning his attention back to his reading material. Whenever Quasimodo smiled at his guardian, showing his tiny jagged teeth, Frollo would remind himself of the circumstances that led to his new job as surrogate father to ward off any strong attachment that might form.

All of a sudden the child began to cry, surprising the Minister before he realized what was wrong. Instantly he rose and shuffled towards the creaky cabinet where he extracted a small wooden bowl and flour. After scooping some into the bowl, Frollo ladled some water from the pail nearby, mixing it rigorously and creating a pasty substance.

Quasimodo's crying lessened as Frollo lifted him into his arms. "There, there," he cooed tiredly, seating the boy on the table then proceeding to carefully spoon the food into the baby's mouth (albeit reluctantly).

"Come then, Quasimodo. It is only pap," he said, the boy still barely taking the spoonfuls of goop. He himself was disgusted at such a meal, but it was the simplest source of nutrition that he could give the boy. Frollo's lips always curled in revolt as pap dripped down little Quasimodo's chin and piled onto the tabletop.

_"I knew I'd find you here, Claude!"_

With a sigh of annoyance and without turning around, Frollo replied, "What is it? I do not have any money."

"How kind of you to think of me, brother, but no; that's not why I'm here," Jehan responded, coming to his brother's side. "Afternoon, Quasimodo," he greeted, gently patting the boy on his head. "Am I interrupting on lunchtime?"

"If you aren't here to collect an allowance, then what do you want, Jehan? I'm very busy at the moment." Frollo tried to concentrate on feeding Quasimodo, who continued to spit excess food at the Minister, much to his chagrin and Jehan's amusement.

"It regards that tenant of yours at Tirechappe," Jehan continued. "What's his name? Duval?"

Wiping off pap particles from his robe, Frollo answered, "Yes, what about him?"

Jehan smiled. "I ran into him today and…apparently he found something at the estate that might be of interest to you, Claude."

"And that would be what, might I ask?" Frollo inquired, his expression skeptical.

"Well," Jehan said. "You'll just have to come along with me to Tirechappe, won't you?"

***A/n: Shorter chapter, I know, but times are hectic because of graduation and other stuff. Just went to Disneyland a couple days ago and you know what senior year's like.**

**I literally just came up with this chapter about two days ago; turns out King Louis XI was a conspiring weasel, so it would make sense he'd sympathize with Frollo. That and he was really superstitious (like many at the time), which is why he might be a little unnerved at the thought of a "changeling".**

**And pap really was a meal that they'd give babies back then; they could use grain or flour, milk or water (milk soup).**

**I promise the next chapter will be more entertaining. Just hang in there! Btw: if you haven't read "Renascence" by Malakaii and you're a Fresme fan, you're missing out. It's beautiful!**

**Thanks! R/r!**


	8. Ignorance is Bliss

"_Tirechappe_? I detest that place!" Frollo argued, cleaning the spilled pap away from Quasimodo's chin. He scowled at the notion of once again setting foot into his childhood home. "Besides, I only return to that accursed place if necessary."

"I know that, Claude, but you really need to come with me," Jehan attested. "Don't you want to know what might have been uncovered in your house? Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"But you have no idea what it is?" Frollo asked sarcastically.

Jehan shrugged. "No, but I want to find out."

The judge rolled his eyes at his brother's naïveté. "And you don't worry that this might be some sort of trap conducted by my tenant?"

Jehan chuckled. "Always overcautious, aren't we? Stop worrying so much! Besides, you're Minister of Justice; Duval wouldn't do anything to _you!_"

Frollo sighed. "Very well," he caved. "I will accompany you, Jehan. But I will be on high alert for anything suspicious if this is a trick of some kind."

The boy smiled widely. "Great, brother! We must leave now! The sooner the better!" he said, tugging Claude by the arm in an attempt to rush him out the door.

Yanking his arm away, Frollo turned from him and took his adopted son in his arms before saying, "Why don't I just meet you in front of the Palace of Justice in about an hour?"

"I'll be there, Claude!" Jehan called as he ran down the steps, exiting the bell tower.

"Ignorance truly is bliss," Frollo commented to himself after his brother was gone. Ignoring the child's wriggling in his arms, Frollo now seriously wondered what his tenant, Duval, must have found in Tirechappe.

X

"How long has it been since you've actually been to Tirechappe, Claude?" Jehan inquired as he sat across from his brother inside the dark carriage.

Frollo furrowed his brow as he thought hard about it: _How long has it been?_

It seemed like it had only been a hub of painful childhood memories. One of the last times the judge had been inside was when he had received word that the plague had spread to his family's home. Upon entering, the young man had discovered that his parents had succumbed to it and an infant Jehan had been abandoned. It was a moment like this in which Claude had concluded that the house might be cursed, vowing never to enter it again, even having one of his servants collect the dues of his tenants rather than doing it himself.

Soon afterward, Claude had leased the former residence to a man named Duval and his peasant family that would bring in a form of income, most of which would later go towards funding Jehan's vices.

Reeling back to the present where his younger brother patiently awaited his answer with an inquisitive look on his cherubic face, Frollo replied, "I have not ventured inside the estate in many years."

"Why not?" Jehan quickly asked.

Frowning in annoyance, Frollo rebuked, "I have my reasons. Let us just assume that I have never been fond of such a place and leave well enough alone."

Jehan waved his hand in indifference. "Fine, Claude. Keep it all bottled up inside then."

For a moment Claude envied Jehan's free spirit—never having to worry about returning to the source of such dark, troublesome memories that still haunted him.

Not much later the carriage came to a halt. Stepping out first, black cape billowing behind him, the judge set his eyes upon the once great manor. It seemed as though its tenants were not as enthusiastic about proper maintenance as his family had been: once a pure white was now a dull yellow with hideous vines creeping up its walls.

_They would be rolling in their graves,_ the Minister thought cynically as he examined the state of the house.

He was shaken from these thoughts when he heard Jehan pound loudly on the front door, stepping forward to join his younger brother.

Seconds later, a haggard old man opened the door. "The brothers Frollo," he gruffly addressed. "Please, come in."

Inside, Frollo's expression turned into a scowl as he examined the interior of the home: once a pristine, neat noble home was now a cluttered mess including empty wine jugs and held a lingering scent of both alcohol and meat.

"Disgusting," Frollo muttered under his breath.

The old man hobbled on a cane as he led the brothers into the parlor. Unkempt white hair, complete with a scraggly beard, and dressed in equally dirty white clothes, the man turned to the elder Frollo.

"Minister, I haven't seen you in a while. Usually a landlord does regular check-ups on his property."

"With my position and schedule, it does not leave me much spare time to be constantly inspecting my estates, which I can see," Frollo retorted, motioning his hand towards the clutter behind him. "Is at its finest." With that sarcastic jab, he flashed a condescending smirk.

"So," the Minister continued. "What did you request our presence for, Duval?"

"Well, I ran into this blond devil, and, as you've probably heard, I told him that I have found something that might interest you, Claude."

Frollo nodded in understanding and looked over at Jehan, who was subtly ransacking through a nearby chest.

"Jehan!" the judge exclaimed, his little brother coming to his side. "So then, what is this "something" that is so important?"

"Follow me," the man Duval ordered, leading them out of the room and up the stairs.

Frollo looked around the house, remembering being a teen and the Parisian nobility gathered there to celebrate his baby brother's christening; how he frantically ran through the home after finding it deserted when his parents had died. A small instance of guilt passed through the stern judge, leaving his chest feeling heavy.

Duval led them forth to the door that lay at the end of the long corridor, opening it to reveal the room that once belonged to Claude's parents.

Hesitating for a moment, Frollo felt as though a cold force prevented him from following his tenant. Shaking off the feeling, he followed into the large bedroom.

Like most of the house, the room was not the most well-kept and harbored an eerie sensation that unsettled the judge. The only remnant left of the previous owners was the large oak armoire where their father once kept various weapons.

"So," Jehan said glancing around the room. "What are we looking for, Duval?"

The old man pointed toward the large armoire, prompting the brothers to share confused looks.

"My grandsons said that there's something behind it," Duval explained. "Something attached to the wall, as they claimed."

Suddenly, it occurred to Frollo that there was something…_significant_ about this armoire. But what?

"If there's something behind this thing, we'll take care of it," Jehan assured, hugging his brother. "Right Claude?"

Shrugging him off, Frollo made his way towards the armoire and grabbed one side of it. "Jehan, help me and take the other side."

The brothers pushed the heavy furniture forward away from the wall, though with some difficulty considering Jehan was not used to such manual labor and resulting in Claude doing most of the work.

With the armoire out of the way, peeling away the many cobwebs with it, the group was baffled that of all the possibilities of what could be hidden behind the armoire was in fact a metal latch in the middle of the wall, accompanied by the outline of space about half the size of a regular door.

"What the hell is _this?_" Jehan wondered aloud.

His brother shared in his puzzlement, racking his brain for answers to what it was. However, whatever it was, it had long been forgotten by the Minister.

"Well don't just stand there," old Duval said. "What's in there?"

Frollo stepped forward and lifted the latch and forcefully pulled, the sound of thin wood creaking as the small compartment revealed itself. He and the other two looked in amazement at the secret space that now lay before them.

Though the space inside was dark, the only thing visible was a large rectangular mass covered by a white sheet.

_What…?_

Brushing away more cobwebs, Frollo pulled the object out of the space and into the light, Jehan ripping the sheet away to reveal a stack of wooden frames that held…paintings. Frollo grimaced, instantly remembering…

Glancing at the frame, Jehan asked, "Claude, who is this?"

The Minister studied the contents of the paintings, his heart becoming stuck in his throat as his gaze met that of the portrait's subject: a large, stern-looking man with a thick, black beard, broad nose, black chaperon, and fierce gray eyes.

"Well?" Jehan nudged Frollo in the arm. "Who is it?"

For some reason the judge could not find the words to answer his brother.

"The former Minister of Justice," Duval gravely said. "Isn't that something?"

"Yes," was all Frollo could respond with. "That, Jehan, was…our father."

Jehan's mouth hung agape at his brother's revelation. "You're bluffing!"

"Truly, I wish I was not," Frollo said solemnly.

Taking the frame from his brother, Jehan closely examined the painting. "Well, it's evident to see where _I_ didn't receive my looks from; but you look a lot like him, Claude."

The statement sent a chill up the Minister's spine.

"What I want to know is," the old man interjected. "Why are these things hidden in my wall?"

Frollo sighed. "I believe I know why…"

_It had been days since the former Minister of Justice and his wife had been taken by plague, leaving behind their two sons, Claude and Jehan. The former had arranged their funeral and the fate of his baby brother. Needless to say that it had been a whirlwind of emotion for the young man._

_Claude had needed a source of income to provide for him and his brother; other than the fief of Moulin, he had rented his family home of Tirechappe to a peasant family. The first thing to do was clearing out most of the remnants of his deceased family members._

_However, the young man had not been taking the recent events very well; he had been alleviating most of his pain with red wine, dulling his senses and judgment._

_In his frustration, Claude only wanted to see such relics gone—out of sight, out of mind. But he could not bring himself to have them destroyed. Intoxicated, he stupidly hired a carpenter to make an addition to the manor…somewhere where he could hide these dreadful possessions._

_After cleverly disguising this crawlspace behind his family's old armoire, the future Minister had completely forgotten about it…_

"I'm assuming this is our mother then?" Jehan was fascinated by a painting of a pale, fragile woman with golden locks covered by a thin veil.

"You assume correctly," Frollo replied. "The poor woman: for years subjected to a pitiful marriage with a self-centered, uncaring, and licentious _bastard_."

Jehan and Duval looked with surprise at the judge's spout of resentment.

"Come on, Claude," Jehan retorted. "I'm sure he wasn't _that_ horrible."

Frollo shot an icy glare at his brother in response as he tried not to lose his temper.

"You didn't know him, Jehan," Duval explained. "Old Nick Frollo, your father, was a cold man."

"That's an understatement," Frollo commented in a hostile tone, glaring again at his father's face.

"Really?" the younger one inquired. "What did he ever do to you, Claude?"

Frowning, he vaguely said, "More than you could imagine." The topic of their family was not one that Frollo discussed with enthusiasm (or at all), despite a young Jehan's constant inquiry…especially to avoid the history behind many of the Minister's abundant number of scars that he consistently kept hidden.

"Well, most of the old geezers at some of the taverns tell me different things about him."

"Like what?" the irritated judge was now curious to know what falsities Jehan's drinking companions might have fed him.

His brother explained, "I've been told that he was a powerful no-nonsense man who ruled the city with an iron fist."

"Sounds right so far," Duval said, scratching at his beard.

"I also heard that he knew his way around the whore-houses of Paris…you know, like the Val-d'Amour," Jehan smirked at the statement.

Frollo felt sickened that his brother would actually be impressed with this, never knowing the burden that he himself had carried because their father's escapades. "Another wretched truth," he said regretfully.

"Looks like we _both_ took a little after him, didn't we?"

The Minister's eyes filled with hate after hearing such chiding, causing him to grip the painting in his hands tighter. "_Never_ compare me to such a vile man," his voice was low, but indicated danger waiting to spring. "You have no idea of the shame and humiliation that he brought to our family!"

"Jehan, perhaps it would be best _not_ to continue this conversation," Duval intervened, not wanting to see the brothers get into exchange verbal blows.

The teen examined a new painting: a serious young boy—dark black hair, thin lips, and crooked nose—sitting in the center of a large library. Frollo loathingly studied the artwork, wishing he had destroyed it long ago.

"Happier times here?" Jehan teased, inspecting the depiction of his brother.

"None whatsoever," the judge replied bluntly. He remembered that day: his father had commissioned a painter—_an old Flemish man, perhaps_—from far away to have the piece done at the insistence of his wife who wanted a painting of her son, probably around nine or ten years old. He sat for hours, bored and miserable, as the artist took his time capturing every detail—_even muttering swipes and insults which did not go unheard by the subject_. Accidently shifting in his discomfort prompted the artist to openly express his frustration and the Minister to harshly remind his son to sit still, Claude wordlessly obeying. Frollo recalled his father conversing with the artist in Latin, seeing as the family did not speak Flemish.

The judge looked at the signature adorning the frame, barely making out the name _Jan van Eyck_.

"Even as a child you looked displeased at the world," the teen commented, laughing at his brother's expense. "Nonetheless, you look adorable, _Minister_!"

"So I assume that you want to remove these things from Tirechappe then, Your Honor?" Duval asked.

"I suppose so," the aggravated Minister answered. He sneered as his brother continued to examine the paintings. "Jehan, help me with this."

After pushing the armoire back into place, Frollo bid farewell to his tenant, promising to send for someone to collect the next rent, before he and Jehan carried the paintings back to the carriage.

As the carriage began moving, Frollo could not keep his eyes from wandering to the art pieces that lay between him and his brother.

"So what are we going to do with these things?" Jehan asked, breaking the silence.

"Honestly…I am not entirely sure," Frollo admitted. "I myself do not care to display these mementos in my home."

"Well I can't keep these in my dorm. Please, Claude! You have to keep these paintings!"

Frollo curled his lip at his brother's pleas. "And why would I do that? Why should I hold onto these artifacts that are constant reminders of the past, which should remain _untouched?_"

Clasping his hands together, Jehan gave his most innocent, pleading look, before again saying, "_Please, _Claude!I was too young to remember our parents, and these are the last things I have of them! _Please, _you _have_ to!"

"Alright! Enough of your incessant whining! I will keep these paintings at the Palace of Justice; however, I will _not_ display them."

"Fair enough!" Jehan said.

"I swear, Jehan, one day you are going to have to stop crying like a child to get what you want!" Frollo scolded.

"Admit it, Claude: you want to hang onto these paintings just as much as I do!"

Frollo schooled his expression into one of indifference. "I wish that were true," before averting his gaze from his brother's eye contact.

Jehan was confused at his brother's reply. "What exactly happened between you and our parents, Claude?"

For a brief moment, the judge's expression almost looked…pained. "That discussion would be best reserved for another time. But let me give you some advice," Frollo leaned closer, his expression now familiarly stern. "Do not think so highly of our father, considering you had never met him. And this is possibly the only time I will say these words, so savor it: you are _fortunate_ that you were orphaned, as you did not have to suffer the same experience that I did."

Jehan blinked at his brother's statement. Frollo, on the other hand, remained rigid and grim-faced.

"You really do have a lot of unresolved issues, don't you?" Jehan broke out into another fit of laughter, his brother sighing in exasperation.

"You have no idea," Frollo muttered under his breath and circling his temples.


	9. Dies Irae

"I told you enough of these childish fights!" In the center of his study, Frollo held his brother in a tight headlock after being informed that Jehan had been involved in yet another squabble with one of his fellow students.

"Mahiet Fagel is absolutely pathetic, Claude! It was hardly a tear in an otherwise _cheap_ gown!" Jehan was powerless as his brother's grip on his tiny neck intensified.

"That isn't the point! Now I suppose you are here to plead for more money? To spend on so-called "charity" with those idiots you call friends—Pierre "the Slaughterer" and Baptiste "the Rook"? Honestly, Jehan, who are you trying to deceive?!" The Minister was livid with anger today, evidenced by the heightened volume of his voice.

Jehan choked out, "I needed the money!"

Frollo's eyes filled with indignation, snarling, "When are you going to grow up and desist with your relentless _begging?!_ I will not always be there to fund your depravity, and most definitely do not want you to influence my ward with your behavior!"

"Why can't you just trust me, Claude?"

"Rather difficult to when the one seeking trust lives life with such careless abandon that he practically beseeches for the damnation of his immortal soul!" The Minister's strength never letting up.

"It's easier to savor life and be damned, brother!" Jehan protested, while attempting to break from Claude's hold. "But at least the journey is more enjoyable!"

"Blasphemy!"

_"Minister Frollo?"_

The judge and his brother looked up from their strife, Frollo still with his arm wrapped around the blonde troublemaker's neck, at the Captain of the Guard standing in the doorway. Glancing at Jehan, Frollo released him and sent him stumbling backwards to the floor.

Clearing his throat and regaining his composure, the Minister quickly replied in a dignified tone, "Status report, Captain?"

"We've received tips of citizens harboring illegal gypsies in the Rue Pavée."

Frollo narrowed his eyes at the rough-faced Captain. "Then we must leave and eradicate this dilemma at once." He picked up and adjusted his hat before ordering Jehan to leave, red sash whipping behind him.

X

"Many of the neighbors have reported gypsies coming and going late at night, sometimes even climbing in through the windows!" Gerard explained while he and the judge rode their horses toward the scene of the crime.

Frollo's lips curled in hatred. It was bad enough that his city was plagued by the gypsies' mere presence, always attempting to lead the good citizens down the path of their ungodly, pagan ways. What irked him even more was their efforts to gain entry into the city without proper documentation.

"No matter, Captain," Frollo said darkly. "When such filth is in custody, the sword of justice shall be wielded and unleash its righteous fury."

Oh, how he relished in watching gypsies plead for their lives as they fell victims to his dominance and acrimony. Today would be no different.

When the Minister and Captain arrived at the scene at the Rue Pavée, there was already a crowd of citizens assembled outside the large building that his soldiers now guarded despite the intense summer heat.

Frollo scoffed at the spectators. _Of course. Why carry on with what your work requires of you, when you mindlessly watch criminals suffer at the hands of the law?_ He thought to himself sarcastically.

Captain Gerard noticed that a satchel hung from the Minister's side, which was odd considering that he usually only carried his sword when patrolling.

"Minister," he began. "May I ask the reason for bringing that with you?"

Glancing at said item, Frollo vaguely answered, "Consider it a sort of _backup plan_, Captain, should things go _awry_ in this matter."

Steering his horse forward, Frollo looked down at the peasant couple and their son, as well as the building's numerous other tenants, shackled and guarded by a foot soldier awaiting his orders.

"Well?" he asked the soldier. "If there is suspicion of illegal gypsies, then where are they?"

Nervously the man answered, "Sir, they refused to give up the suspected criminals, claiming that there are none to be found."

"Did you try raiding the home?" Frollo asked dryly, slightly annoyed at seeing the building still intact.

"We, uh, _tried_, sir. But, somehow the inside of the house was barricaded after we made the arrests."

"_Barricaded?_" Frollo turned his attention back toward the house where his men stood exchanging ideas of how to handle the situation.

Out of pure frustration, he dismounted from his horse and advanced toward the house, brushing aside the idle guards. He shook the door handle furiously trying to open it before harshly slamming his shoulder against the wooden door in another futile attempt.

Frollo raised his eyebrow at the timid family whose pitiful expressions pleaded for mercy from the heated judge. "Rather _questionable_, isn't that?"

"Your Honor, please! We can explain!" the peasant father nervously cried, only for Frollo to raise his hand in dismissal.

_Ignorant plebs, believing they'd be able to beguile _me!

"Orders, sir?" Gerard asked, rearing his horse to Frollo's side.

The judge smiled deviously at the building, a plot already formed in his head. "If our dishonest peasant friends will not give up their houseguests willingly…then it is time to resort to extreme measures."

Captain Gerard blinked at the ambiguous answer. "And what are these "extreme measures," Minister?" he asked skeptically.

Reaching into his satchel, Frollo pulled out a small, round object, holding it up to show Gerard.

The Captain looked confused as he studied the object in Frollo's gloved hand. "And this is…what exactly, sir?"

Frollo smirked. "This is a smoke bomb, Captain; something I picked up from the Ottomans. Arabic gunpowder filled with skunk oil and sulfur in a terracotta casing which will explode on impact. A few of these and those mangy gypsies will be drawn out in no time." The judge removed the satchel and handed it to Gerard. "Distribute these among your men. The building will most likely be damaged in our efforts to apprehend these fugitives, but that is a risk we are willing to take."

The Captain looked somewhat bewildered at the Minister's cunning, but nevertheless did as commanded and handed off the rest of the explosives while recounting Frollo's scheme.

"Minister, please!" the peasant man pleaded, a shaken expression on his face. "This isn't necessary, is it? We've already told you that we are _not _housing gypsies in our home!"

Frollo scowled at the man's begging. "Of course not; I suppose homes just happen to board themselves up _without_ their tenants inside." He nodded at the guard, signaling him to land a hard blow to the man's abdomen, resulting in a shriek emitted from the wife. "Until I have firm evidence that contests otherwise, you and your family are accessories to a smuggling operation!"

Frollo turned to witness his soldiers either chucking rocks or firing arrows through the building's many windows, the sound of glass shattering pierced the atmosphere.

"What are you waiting for?!" the judge shouted. "I want those vermin out immediately!"

His men hurled the palm-sized bombs through the broken windows, bangs instantly following upon impact. Smoke escaped from the building while the overwhelming odor of skunk oil filled the air around it. The sounds of cries and screams cut through those of the small explosions causing a smug grin of satisfaction to creep upon the Minister's face.

But the fun did not stop there: the front door was suddenly flung open and a blur of over a dozen colorfully dressed gypsies frantically evacuated the house. Frollo's men were ready and waiting, seizing each and every one of them before shackling them tightly.

Spectators watched in awe as the coughing and choking gypsies protested and cursed the guards relentlessly.

"A terrible decision to try and mislead a public official," the judge boasted as the family looked on in fear and shock. "Captain, escort each and every one of them back to the Palace of Justice!"

He smiled wickedly as he imagined how soon they would be begging for clemency before him.

"Lieutenant! You and your men inspect the rest of the building; tear the facility to bits if you must! Make sure there isn't so much as a rat left alive in there!"

_You can never be too careful._

x

"The old man assured us that we could slip in without being noticed." A dark-skinned, colorfully-dressed man rested pathetically on his knees in a damp cell-bruised, cut, and nose bloodied. He looked up feebly at the impatient Minister of Justice, arms crossed, as a confession finally been extracted (albeit violently). "He said we'd be _safe_," the gypsy's red eyes began to expel tears in defeat and he began to sob. "Have mercy, Your Honor!"

The judge schooled his expression. "Unfortunately for you, I am not as easily swayed by tears as others might be. The fact of the matter is that you have admitted to entering my jurisdiction illegally, therefore proper _execution_ of the law must be carried out. The rest of your heathen family will be no different."

The man shook his head in shock and disbelief upon the judge's statement.

"Although," Frollo said slyly. "Perhaps an agreement can be reached under certain conditions."

The gypsy man looked in confusion over his statement.

"Say, if proper information is given, then there might be an alternative to the sentence of death."

"_Information?_" the gypsy asked. "About what?"

"I know that your people are keen on bargaining, so I will offer you a deal, gypsy," Frollo lowered himself closer and continued in a hushed tone. "I will lessen the severity of yours _and _your family's punishment…in exchange, you will reveal to me the location of the infamous Court of Miracles."

"What?!" the man was bewildered at Frollo's offer. "And what about our freedom?"

Frollo paused and chose his words carefully. "All in good time. Understand that as Minister of Justice, it would not be morally correct for me to allow a convicted criminal to walk away free without proper repercussions, even after providing _essential_ information. Nevertheless, I still stand as the difference between life and death regarding the fate of your family. The choice is yours."

The gypsy leered at the judge. "Bargaining is not one of your strong suits, Minister. I would sooner sprout wings and conquer Byzantium than tell you where our safe haven is!"

Frollo bared his teeth and swung his arm, landing a hard blow to the man's face, eliciting more blood to flow from his mouth and sharp intakes of breath. The Minister remained as stone-faced and unmoved as ever, even when examining the fresh blood staining his gloves.

"I have tried to be diplomatic, but I suppose my endeavors have all been in vain. It seems the only way to keep your abominable kind in place is by_ force!_ No matter, tomorrow's little spectacle will be quite _enjoyable_, no doubt," he said venomously before turning to exit the cell, the sound of metal slamming afterwards.

As he stepped down the dark corridor on his way to next prisoner, Frollo could not help but grin. It had been such a long time since he had been fortunate to obtain such large catch of gypsy wrongdoers that he was eager to get the trials over with and go straight to the punishment. But first thing was first, he had to confront the leader of such an operation.

"Unlock it," he ordered a guard as he arrived at the next cell.

Entering the dark space, Frollo set his eyes on the man whose wrists were shackled to the cold wall: the peasant father who was the suspected ringleader of harboring gypsies in his home. Similar to the other prisoners that he had intimidated today, this man had seen his fair share of abuse, as evidenced by his numerous bruises, gauntness of his face, and how he shook from pain. The trembling man looked up into the judge's cold eyes with his own deadened ones. Like so many others, he resembled a dying man who waited for sweet oblivion to claim him.

Stepping closer, Frollo grimly said, "Given your physical state, it would be unwise to deny the inevitable truth of your innocence; the evidence is clear as daylight. However, my position requires a confession from the perpetrator himself, which means that there must be a trial which shall be conducted immediately."

"_Immediately?_" the beaten man asked fearfully.

"I am a man with obligations and priorities, so yes, immediately," the judge said curtly. "Bring him up," he instructed his men as he strode forward through the long corridor, subordinates in tow.

The Minister did not bother to stop and wait for the rest to catch up since they were hindered by the old man's weakness, instead scoffing and continuing his ascent to his courtroom.

The hollow, empty courtroom greeted him familiarly as he set his jaw, ready to send another lamb to the slaughter.

Taking a seat at his judicial bench, he gathered his parchment pieces and prepared his official stamp, lips curling into a sadistic grin as his captive was brought before him.

"Now then," he said tauntingly. "You sir—last name, Blanchet—are being accused of committing the crime of harboring at least fifteen counts of illegal gypsies in your home. How do you plead?" Frollo's dark gray eyes bore coldly into those of the accused man.

The man named Blanchet opened and closed his mouth nervously, knowing well enough that it was a lost battle. Under such pressure, he could not tear away his stare from the patronizing one of the Minister. "You too would break the law for your own survival," he tiredly croaked.

Frollo was visibly taken aback by such a response. "To violate the law of God for a dishonest way of life?! Utterly despicable and idiotic! On top of that, blatant denial of committing said offense. As you might be well aware, proper punishment must be enforced."

X

The whole city of Paris flocked to the square for the day's event; executions were always something that excited the community. The sky had become eerily gray and overcast, as if on cue for the occasion. The Minister had ordered for a large gallows to be constructed to accommodate the number of hangings. But Frollo had instructed his men to hold Blanchet the admitted mastermind until the very end.

"You will witness the consequences of such underhanded actions," Frollo had muttered to him fiercely.

Many citizens shouted protests against the charges Frollo read aloud, others in full support and eagerly awaiting a good hanging. Numerous gypsies, once so full of life, were now so expressionless as the public ruthlessly shamed them. The gypsy women and children were dubbed as demon-spawn practitioners of witchcraft, further encouraged by Frollo's own verbal hatred.

He had no desire to grace his prisoners with traditional last rites (and wasn't as though Father Augustin would have performed them anyway), preferring that they would meet their ends bathed in the shameful sin that led them to such a fate.

Tears streamed down prisoners' faces as his executioner wrapped a noose around each neck, especially the man Frollo held on the sidelines. Blanchet glared viciously at the content judge before the latter commanded the hanging his wife and son followed by sorrowful blubbering.

Paris applauded the elimination of more criminals, some demanding that they had met a more gruesome end.

After dumping the remaining corpses onto a cart to be thrown into some mass grave, Frollo shoved the man forward towards the executioner. Noose around his peasant neck, Frollo announced the man's crime (followed by crowd booing) before giving the signal.

Neck snapping, the city rejoiced in the killing of another wretched sinner, Frollo beaming in sadistic pride.

X

Long after the cadavers had been disposed of and the audience had long gone home, Frollo had remained and reveled in the ominous atmosphere the still lingered.

_The world is rid of more heathen abominations and accomplices,_ he thought satisfied.

Breaking from his trance, the he turned his attention upward to the great façade of the cathedral. Promptly, he made his way to the entrance of the church and through the wooden doors.

"Claude!" an angry voice called, Frollo barely registering as he turned around and saw the Archdeacon striding down the steps from the bell tower in a huff.

With an indifferent expression and mellow tone, Frollo simply answered, "Yes?"

Father Augustin narrowed his eyes at him. "I saw what you did out there! Mass executions now? Are you insane?!"

The judge retaliated, "I am doing what my position requires of me and serving justice."

"Condemning even a woman and child to death though?"

Frollo shrugged. "They were in cahoots with an illegal smuggling endeavor and the law cannot bend on the grounds of their age or gender. Proper consequences must be met to ensure that others are discouraged from committing the same offense. Need I remind you, Father, of the words of Romans? '_For it is not the hearers of the law who are righteous before God, but the doers of the law who will be justified._' Now that may not most prominent set of words in our Lord's book to you, but I carry said verse as a key to the conduct in which I perform my sacred duty."

Clasping his hands, Frollo tried not to smirk as he knew that he had won today's verbal exchange between he and his old adversary.

Augustin crossed his arms and said, "Frollo, one day the misdeeds you have carried out will come back to haunt you. I am begging you _not_ to abuse your position and power as Minister of Justice. No doubt you have already made a few enemies along the way."

"I am well aware of that," the Minister said under his breath.

"Your prejudices and fear-mongering cannot benefit the city's sense of community and brotherhood at all; rather, only creating more hostility and hate among the people!"

"As long as there is order, I will do what I must to prevent more sin and immorality from plaguing these streets. If it requires a few miserable gypsies to meet their demise in the process, the so be it!" Without another word, Frollo marched up to the bell tower.

***A/n: I felt like I was forgetting to incorporate Frollo's persona as a hard judge and hatred for gypsies so you're welcome. I had been replaying Assassin's Creed: Revelations so that's where the smoke bombs came from; Frollo needed to upgrade his arsenal with some assassin gear (but no hidden blades!)**

**I'm kind of at an impasse here in terms of ideas because I don't want to skip around time too much. I got some but it's the time period mucking things up. So if there's anything you'd like to see, let's hear it.**

**Mahiet Fargel, Pierre the slaughterer, and Baptiste the rook are classmates of Jehan's from the book, specifically the famous 'ANATKH chapter.**

**Thanks again for reading and don't forget to review!**


	10. The Haunting (Somewhere in Time)

Climbing the stairwell Frollo dusted his robe off after another long day, but at least it was more eventful and enjoyable than usual with less writing and more hands-on work.

When he reached the bell tower he found the Archdeacon carefully rocking the gurgling Quasimodo before placing him back his cradle.

"Good day, Minister," he greeted kindly. Furrowing his brows, he then gestured to his own face before saying, "You seem to have…blood, on you cheek, Frollo."

Wiping at his face, the judge saw that there was indeed more blood than he thought as he assumed he had brushed all of it off. As a gift from a fellow magistrate in England, the rack had proven to make quite a messy, though effective, method of extracting information and execution. "Screamers tend to be the most viable source of leads for criminal activity."

Father Augustin nodded curtly. "Claude, there's a matter that I need to discuss with you."

Removing his leather gloves, Frollo asked, "And what would that be?"

"Follow me," he said, leading the judge out of the bell tower.

The two made their way to Augustin's study, which resembled Frollo's own with its large array of books, however less daunting. The Minister took a seat, the Archdeacon following afterwards.

Closing the door, Augustin gravely asked, "What ever became of Quasimodo's father?"

Frollo blinked at the question, caught off-guard by such an inquiry. Steepling his long fingers together before him, he thought hard for an answer. It had only been about seven months since the incident but the Minister had exterminated gypsies like any other pests, and to him the band of them which had brought Quasimodo to Paris were just more nameless faces.

Shaking his head, he responded, "I am not entirely sure. I might have had the man executed…or there might be a chance that he still lies in the dungeons of the Palace of Justice. Who knows? Perhaps I had put him on trial, or maybe not."

"And that's that?" The Archdeacon crossed his arms.

"What's done is done, and he is no longer a part of Quasimodo's life," Frollo sharply retorted. "Why does it matter?"

"I have scarcely seen you try to make an attempt to really embrace him as your own and show some sort of affection towards him. And since you've taken his father from him, it just makes one wonder what became of the man."

Frollo's face twisted into a sneer. "What do you hope to accomplish with this admonishment?"

Augustin sighed. "Quasimodo is growing, Claude. I'm sure you would enjoy fatherhood if you put your heart into it."

The Minister rolled his eyes, easily resembling Jehan when he lectured him. "As you may recall, Father: I promised to care for him, not…_love_ the boy." The word left a bitter taste in his mouth as the man was not accustomed to exercising it in his normal vocabulary.

"Honestly, Claude," Augustin chided as the Minister rose from his seat. "Since you are now Quasimodo's father, then you-"

"I am _not_ his father!" Frollo snarled angrily. "We have established that I am simply his guardian and he is my ward, _not_ my son. This discussion is over." Quickly, he straightened up to his signature imposing stature.

Augustin narrowed his eyes pitifully at the judge. "Very well. But food for thought: if he _were_ your son by blood, wouldn't you care for him more?"

Frollo frowned at the man's argument. "If that were the case, then yes, perhaps I would be more willing to embrace parenthood. But it is _not_ and I am grateful not to have any children of my own." The Minister turned around and reached for the iron door handle about to open it until Augustin spoke up.

"Are you quite sure about that?"

Frollo stopped immediately, his eyes widening upon hearing this question.

"You think about her, don't you, Claude?"

His grip on the handle tightening, he replied, "I…don't know to whom you are referring."

The Archdeacon looked doubtfully at him. "Yes you do, Claude. I have known you your whole life, and I know that you were friends with her for almost ten years."

Frollo remained facing the wooden door, hiding the fact that his expression softened into a crestfallen one.

"I remember that she was your "best friend" by your own words," Augustin continued. "Don't you ever wonder about her?"

Frollo did not respond. Inside, however, he knew that there were many times where he questioned the eventual fate of his old friend, occasionally scolding himself for letting his greatest companion go. But he also remembered that the future that he once saw with her had not been in practicality.

Looking down at the red ring on his finger, he lied, "No, I do not." Suddenly the air was tight and he felt the need to exit the room.

Before he could, "She had come back, Claude," the Archdeacon said suddenly.

Frollo squeezed his eyes shut and stiffened for a moment. "When?" he asked quietly, still refusing to turn around.

Augustin sighed. "About fourteen years ago…"

_The Archdeacon walked through the nave with the candle lighter in hand. Evening mass would not start for quite a long time and Notre Dame was dead silent._

_Until there was the sound of a small cry, followed by a voice quietly shushing it._

_Father Augustin turned around and saw a figure walking through the pew: a young woman by the look of it, carrying a small bundle in hand. He decided to approach said figure, who looked on awestruck at the stained glass pictures high above._

"_My dear," he greeted calmly. "Mass does not start for another half hour."_

_The young woman turned around…dark bronze skin, light brown eyes, colorful gypsy attire complemented by an orange scarf around her head. In her arms, a small child, who looked about a year old, squirmed restlessly and looked around the colossal church interior surrounding him._

"_Forgive me, Father," she said sincerely. "I haven't been here in a long time, and I just wanted to see this place again."_

"_You seem familiar," Augustin said carefully, studying her face._

"_You may recall me never leaving Claude Frollo's side as a child?" She said with a smirk._

_Augustin smiled. "Celeste. I remember now; you were his closest friend."_

_The girl's smile disappeared. "Yes, I was_._But I haven't seen him in over two years since he can't stand me anymore."_

_Augustin vaguely remembered a time when Claude transitioned into a hateful bigot, seemingly in a day (never elaborating why). Around that same time, the young scholar had begun spinning anti-gypsy sentiment to his fellow students and noblemen._

"_Celeste?" the Archdeacon asked. "What made you leave Paris?"_

_She looked down at the child in her arms. "Well…got married and decided that we should try living somewhere else. So, we went to Spain for a while, had a child almost a year ago, and now our caravan's traveling all over Europe. We're just stopping in Paris for the night."_

"_You were married? Congratulations, my child!" he beamed sincerely._

"_Thank you," Celeste gave a small smile. "To one of the boys in my caravan: Marcel." She chuckled. "Claude hated him, and he hated Claude. You can see why it was better to leave Paris."_

_Augustin could then recall times when the young Frollo had cast scowls and looks of scorn at a certain curly-haired gypsy boy. It made sense considering he was a notorious grudge-holder._

_The man took another look at the child who wiggled in her arms and noticed how much lighter he was in comparison to his much darker mother, and how he possessed dark gray eyes that looked very eerily familiar._

_Remaining subtle, Augustin said, "And of course congratulations on becoming a mother. You and your husband must be very proud."_

"_We are, but sometimes it isn't easy when your son looks nothing like your husband."_

_Augustin did not know how to respond to such a statement, analyzing how much the boy resembled someone else…_

_Celeste sighed and held the child closer. Looking up to the Archdeacon, she then said, "He's Claude's son."_

_It took a moment for the man to wrap his head around the idea that such a pious, God-fearing person like Claude Frollo would break his vow of celibacy, especially outside the nobility. At first it didn't seem to make any sense, until he remembered how close Claude had been with the gypsy girl as children, and that his prejudice against her kind seemed to only manifest after she had left Paris._

_"Claude is the father? Claude Frollo?" he asked, still stunned. "Celeste, are you sure?"_

"_Believe me, Father, I'm certain it's him. He's the only other man I've been with besides my husband, and my son looks absolutely nothing like him; he can only be Claude's."_

"_Did you ever tell him about the boy?"_

"_Never," was her reply. "Could you imagine what he'd do if he found out that he had a gypsy child? He'd go ballistic!"_

_The baby boy gurgled impatiently and continued to fuss, Celeste rocking him to calm him down. "No, it's better for the both of them if they don't know."_

Frollo kept his eyes clamped shut and his breathing shallowed as the words sunk in painfully. His knuckles were a deadly white as he never released his grip on the door handle.

_Damn her!_ He fumed and rejected the notion that he of all people would ever have a child out of wedlock—and a _gypsy_ at that. But another part of him wanted to break down and weep for his old friend.

Unsure of any other way to respond to such a tale, Frollo could not even control his next words from escaping. "It's not mine."

"Claude" Augustin said slowly. "If you had seen the boy, then you-"

"It's _not_ mine," Frollo repeated fiercely, trying to keep from releasing the anger inside that made his blood boil. "It could belong to any unsuspecting man. Whatever half-breed bastard that that witch expelled from her womb is of no concern of mine."

The Archdeacon crossed his arms at the Minister and his expression was one of doubt. "Were you two ever together?"

Despite his track record, even Frollo could not find it in his heart to lie any further. "Never more than once. And now you are aware that I have not always honored my vow of celibacy."

"I told you, Minister, that your vow is one of personal choice, _not_ the ministry. And since you were with her, then you cannot rule yourself out as a possibility."

Frollo turned around slightly to face the Archdeacon. "I firmly believe that I did _not_ sire such a child." Once more he reached for the door handle prepared to leave.

"He had your eyes, Claude," Augustin stated sentimentally.

The muscles in the judge's back tensed up as he imagined a gypsy child with his cold gray eyes.

"Would you like to know what she named him?" he asked the Minister.

His heart wrenching in his chest, Frollo wanted to hear no more on the subject. With a sharp inhale, he quietly replied, "No. I never want to hear about her _again_."

Without waiting for the Archdeacon's response, Frollo stormed out of the man's study, slamming the door behind him, and marched down the lengthy halls leading the bell tower.

Half-way up the steps to the tower, the Minister stopped and leaned heavily against the stone wall. Tears welled in his eyes even as he stifled a sob of resentment.

X

Frollo brushed past the guard as he opened the door and made his way down the stairwell into the dungeons. There was something that needed to be checked…

He approached the warden and darkly said, "I want you to show me to every gypsy in custody."

"Yes, Minister." He swiftly led the grim judge to the first, then the second, and a third cell with a gypsy inside. None of them contained the person he sought out, to which he would simply order, "Next," then heading to the next cell.

So many of them looked at him like skittish animals about to be attacked, confused by the judge's brief visit to study each of their faces before storming out of each cell and down the corridor. Such a search was beginning to look fruitless, to which he took mental note of how many gypsies he should dispose of to prevent overcrowding in his dungeons.

None of these seemed to be the one he was looking for, but the Minister knew who he was after.

"This is the last of them, Your Honor," the guard stated as he placed the key into the cell door.

With annoyed anticipation, Frollo eyed the inside of the dark cell as the door swung open. The figure inside flinched and quickly shielded himself from the incoming torch light.

"Show yourself," Frollo ordered harshly.

Reluctantly and weakly the gypsy man raised his head and looked upon the imposing Minister of Justice. Frollo recognized the man by his long face, crooked nose, and dirty facial hair (once only a mustache). The man had been there the night of the incident…_Quasimodo's father_.

Glancing back at his guard, Frollo sent the guard away, leaving only him and this prisoner.

The gypsy coughed loudly, blood staining his hand. "It's…it's _you_," he choked out. "Judge Frollo."

"Indeed," Frollo responded. "You were caught trying to enter the city illegally with three others including a child in late winter, correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Please," he shakily crawled closer to the rigid Minister. "What became of them? My wife and son?"

Frollo pursed his lips. Nonchalantly, he answered, "Your wife perished in an unfortunate accident; your son survived and is in good hands."

The gypsy looked bewildered before furrowing his brows at the judge. He raspily breathed, "What did you do to them?"

Taken aback, Frollo dryly answered "Nothing that wasn't required of me."

He coughed again. "You are so full of it," the dirty man commented hatefully while attempting to raise himself up. "Your reputation is well-known all over the country; everyone knows that you are a cold, self-righteous son of a bitch! Especially towards my people. I know whatever misfortune that followed my family was because of you! Now tell me: what became of my son?"

Frollo refused to give into the demands of someone below him, tightening his jaw in annoyance.

Deciding to keep the upper hand, he posed his own question. "Have you ever given any consideration to the notion that your wife might have been…_unfaithful_ in your union?"

The man glared at Frollo resentfully at his implication, fury growing with such taunting.

"Come now, your son resembled neither of you, therefore the culprit could only be your wife's infidelity," the judge drawled. "Such a woman who violates the sanctity of marriage will not be missed, wouldn't you agree?"

"That's not the point, Frollo!" the man angrily retorted, feebly standing up a bit, his ankle chains rattling. "He is my son nonetheless. Now what happened to him?"

"Gone," Frollo deadpanned. "Simply given to another's care, but not dead, mind you. Besides, what do you care if you were most likely not even the boy's true father?"

The man's expression resembled the Archdeacon's of sympathy which Frollo easily detested. "You don't understand, do you, Your Honor? It isn't about whether I sired him or not; my wife and I loved him because he was ours. As a parent, you are supposed to love your children unconditionally. I know that he might have not have resembled me, but I called him my son and viewed him as such."

Frollo chewed on the statement for a moment, baffled by such impassioned devotion from a gypsy of all people.

"So you would care for the child as your own even though he might not have been yours in the first place?" he asked cynically.

The man's expression was one of dead seriousness as he nodded in response.

Frollo couldn't help but let out a condescending chuckle at such a thought. "Such idiotic logic piled upon blind emotional conviction. I almost feel sorry for you, good sir, for not being able to see through a harlot's deception and trickery. Obviously she had seduced some other weak-willed lowlife before perverting your mind into believing that you should actually harbor affection for the result of her heedlessness. Truly a pity when a man falls for the enchantment of a treacherous, silver-tongued wench. That would explain why your son resembled a hell-spawn demon."

"You _bastard!_" Suddenly the man had lunged forward, calloused hands going for the judge's throat and tackling him to the stone ground.

The gypsy gritted his teeth tightly as his hands coiled around Frollo's neck. The judge tried in vain to push him away while fighting to keep breathing. The man's eyes and expression looked almost animalistic with the ferocious intent to kill.

"If they kill me, I can die knowing that the world is rid of another selfish tyrant!" he breathed, increasing the pressure on his grip.

Frollo could feel the air around him becoming tighter and tighter, vision becoming black and distant. His strength seemed to be sapped away as he continued to try and pry off the murderous gypsy, obviously strengthened by adrenaline and hatred.

Was this truly how it was going to end? Being strangled to death in his own home by some gypsy? It just couldn't be.

The instinct to stay alive kept him fighting, even though he could barely register what was going on. Unknowingly, one hand began searching his belt for anything that could be of help, especially when it felt that his last breaths were escaping.

In a dire light-headed state, Frollo felt himself grab something from his belt, instantly piercing it into the side of the gypsy man.

The judge felt the lock on his throat lessen then disappear, followed by a voice heard screaming far away. Though his vision was still hazy and head still spinning from the lack of oxygen, Frollo choked on the air trying desperately to get into his lungs and looked down at his attacker who lay on the ground clutching his side with a blood-soaked hand. Without thinking, Frollo thrust another puncture into the man's shoulder not once, but twice, and eliciting another painful cry from the man.

The gypsy looked down at the blood that trickled down his arm and limply fell over on his side. Frollo looked at the once clean blade of the dagger and then at the man's figure. Shakily, he rose to his feet and stumbled a bit of out of the cell before closing it shut and making his way back down the corridor.

Shock at his own impulsive actions consumed him—not remorse over what he had just done, just utter _shock_. He hadn't expected such a confrontation to end in bloodshed, but if that was the way it had to, then so be it.

Heart racing and head pounding furiously, Frollo noticed that his robe and hands were stained with gypsy blood as well. Usually a kill did not involve the other gaining the upper hand before him, which was something that truly surprised the judge.

"_Minister!_" the guard called, metal clanking as he rushed towards him.

Frollo's head snapped up upon hearing the guard address him, breaking him slightly from his disoriented state.

"Minister, what happened?" he asked, astounded by the amount of blood adorned by Frollo.

Wearing the same collected façade, Frollo responded, "There was a slight altercation with the prisoner I needed to speak to: he had attempted to kill me by means of strangulation, but I have taken care of it. See to it that such a mess is taken care of."

"O-of course, sir!" the guard obediently answered.

Climbing the stairs to his chambers above, Frollo's mind raced with numerous different thoughts. One was processing was had just happened; another, of what the man had told him…

_Could it be possible to actually feel an emotional bond for the child, despite not even being flesh and blood?_

Frollo had thrown Augustin's story to the back of his mind, refusing to revisit the conversation about _her_ or any other absurd notions that the Archdeacon might have informed him of. He frequently denied to himself that he could not be held accountable for anything that might have been a result of his own youthful carelessness.

Did he learn anything from these past few days?

The boy's own gypsy father had tried to end him…to teach him of their dark ways would further increase his status as a mindless subordinate to the judge.

_Quasimodo shall always know of their malignity and wickedness._


	11. Romulus and Remus

Winter had once again arrived with a bitter cold and Frollo was taking the necessary steps to ensure that the bell tower would be warm enough to prevent Quasimodo from freezing to death.

It had been over a year since the Minister had agreed to take on the responsibility of parenthood; though he tried to keep his visitation to a minimum, Quasimodo still waved his small arms and smiled happily at seeing his father figure. The same could not be said for his adopted uncle Jehan, as Quasimodo always seemed slightly apprehensive about the student's presence. Whenever the young man would come to see his brother in the tower, it was almost as though the child could sense the contempt that the Minister held for him.

Frollo had brought more blankets for the child and had allowed him to crawl around on the floor during this visit. Lately the boy had attempted to shakily stand up on his own, but it proved difficult since his short legs were bowed which slowed most of the progress. Not to mention that he hadn't even started repeating any words—no matter how elementary—which worried the judge that he might be more invalid than originally thought.

"You wanted to see me, Claude?"

Picking up the boy and sitting him down on the wooden table, Frollo turned to his brother reaching the top of the steps. "Yes. I have matters that I must discuss with you."

Jehan pursed his lips and approached his brother. "Any luck today?" he asked regarding the child's abilities. He looked down at Quasimodo, who seemed to be eyeing the teen suspiciously. He cried out and reached his small hands toward the Minister, no doubt in more discomfort from the new teeth coming in.

"None whatsoever." Frollo glanced back at the hunchbacked boy before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a raw licorice stick to give to him to chew on, instantly quieting him. He sighed heavily. "Now, there is something that I must _painstakingly_ ask of you, Jehan."

"It can't possibly be anything that you've already asked of me tenfold, could it?" he replied. "I have already explained to you, that my mistakes are simply "learning experiences" that are through no faul-"

"Please, I have heard this excuse so many times that it has since lost any value left in it. Just shut up and listen to me for once!"

His blue eyes widened at his brother's tone of voice, instantly heeding his words.

Collecting himself, Frollo carried on, "I understand that you particularly enjoy gambling down on the Rue de Glatigny."

Jehan shifted his eyes away from his brother's stone gray ones. "You know, Claude, people will weave whatever lies they can to-"

"If you cease with trying to impress me with this innocent façade, then I can explain the situation more quickly." His face evidenced tension and hesitance to address the issue at hand; whatever the judge had to say was obviously not going to be easy for him and Jehan did not see any reason to aggravate him further. "Given that you frequent these establishments of ill repute, then I am confident that you are familiar with a man named Henry Cezanne?"

Jehan simply shrugged. "I might have thrown a few dice with the man at one of the taverns. Why do you ask?"

"The man is not only a spy, but has also been assisting gypsies enter the city illegally, Jehan," Frollo answered, a vein pulsating on the side of his forehead. "You know as well as I that the Lord's Book itself instructs that the only way to kill a snake is to cut off its head. The man is as slippery as he is treacherous and it my duty to bring him to justice, especially one who has the audacity to mingle with such a low race in _my_ jurisdiction. My previous attempts to eradicate such activity have all been in vain, therefore I to must look for another approach."

"What does this have to do with me?" Jehan asked impatiently.

The judge sighed again and rolled his eyes. "I have formulated a plan to capture him, but _unfortunately_…I would require your assistance."

The boy was taken aback before emitting a smug grin then a mocking laugh. His arrogance did not soothe his brother's frayed nerves and made him feel even more pathetic for having to rely on someone as ignorant as this miscreant. Frollo simply crossed his arms and waited for his brother to calm himself.

"_You_ need _my_ help?" Jehan repeated with a taunting satisfaction. "Claude, did you by any chance injure your head today? Or have you simply hitting the bottle a tad too much lately? Why on earth would you need _my_ help?"

Gripping the wooden table behind him to avoid lashing out at the Jehan, the judge elaborated, "I require a pawn of sorts on the inside, and since you are a regular at these taverns, you would not raise any suspicion as opposed to myself sending in one of my enforcements to pose as a patron, since it has proven to be an _ineffective_ method. And it would be much too risky to send in some lost soul off the street; any one of them could be a potential lackey to another lawless fugitive."

_This boy is much too stupid to have gotten involved with some crime lord anyway,_ Frollo thought cynically. Luckily Jehan still showed some loyalty to his elder brother, no matter how much it was shrouded in his own selfishness. Jehan might have bluffed about blackmailing his brother previously, but even he was no sidewinder when it came to taking sides…especially when that side was the one providing him his allowance.

"Your angle would be to lure Cezanne out to allow my men to arrest him. I am asking you as my brother to do this," Frollo continued.

Jehan looked doubtfully at the Minister. "I see. And what would I receive as payment for my service in your plan, _brother_?"

The elder frowned at such a request. "I believe that you continuing to run amuck with the filth of Paris at my own expense is payment enough in itself; I already fund everything else that you indulge yourself in."

Jehan folded his arms. "With such an attitude you can find yourself another mole then! Twenty pieces of silver!"

The Minister would not admit that he was indeed out of options and therefore could only try to appeal to the boy's demands to an extent. "Avaricious vulgarian! I'll give you five."

"Twenty." Jehan's smile was one of good humor and innocence which he prayed would influence his brother to concede. However, the judge remained unmoved by such a charade; he would not stoop lower to give into such demands so easily. "Fifteen then?"

Frollo's expression soured as he reluctantly considered this bargain. It was a shame the boy had never quite grasped the concept of greed being a deadly sin. "Ten. Nothing more," he stated coldly.

Jehan shook his curly head. "Very well, Claude. Ten it is!" He extended his small hand to shake on it, Frollo's own grip threatening to break it.

"Grow up," the Minister remarked as his brother hissed and clutched at his hand.

"If I may," Jehan said, straightening up. "Why the sudden interest to capture criminals at the source? Usually don't you wait it out until your men arrest them?"

Frollo exhaled solemnly. "I cannot take any chances. Ever since those parlement oafs in Toulouse pardoned François Villon to banishment instead of hanging—as I had _rightfully_ sentenced—I cannot let these lowlifes assume that my power has been diminished! I must ensure that all lawbreakers suffer the rightful justice as is proclaimed by God. And my job is not about lying in wait, Jehan."

"Right then," the younger then said. "Well, I should be off, since I have plans with a certain Isabeau la Thierrye tonight. Good day, brother!"

Before he could stride off into another lecherous evening of pleasure, Frollo quickly grabbed his wiry arm. "I think not," he retorted, keeping his brother planted.

Stumped at this, the boy questioned the meaning of this, to which Frollo answered, "We have matters to discuss and I'm positive that you can skip one night of your licentiousness to do so, lest you would rather me _not_ provide you with the monetary means to enjoy these pastimes."

Jehan looked dumbfounded at the judge. "But Claude!" he childishly whined.

Frollo opened his mouth to chide him over his behavior, but before he could, a small voice from behind cried out, "_Cloud!_"

The two looked at each other in surprise and turned their attention to where Quasimodo still sat atop the table and once again cried, "Cloud!"

The Minister's eyes widened in disbelief and his mouth hung agape, while Jehan was thrown into a fit of laughter.

Quasimodo cherubically smiled at his caretaker before repeating his new word again.

Frollo glared spitefully at his brother. "Now look what you've done!" he snarled, motioning towards the boy.

Jehan's face was bright red from the hilarity of the situation; his brother's own seemed to color itself a similar tint, though from embarrassment and not amusement.

Gripping Claude's shoulder, the younger one said, "Please, he was bound to learn that sooner or later. Besides, a child's first word is supposed to be one of the proudest moments of being a parent, right? At least you know now that he's not mute or invalid!"

"I suppose," Frollo responded dryly as he glared at the smiling child. "It would take a miracle for him to be able to walk though. I will figure out a proper title for him to address me by in time."

Patting his brother on the shoulder, Jehan mockingly said, "You're going to be a great father, Claude!"

X

Though Jehan was known to frequent La Falourdel's for most of his drinks and seeking company with his favorite strumpets, his brother had received information that Cezanne had been seen in one of the other taverns on the Rue de Glatigny. The place was a haven for carousers like him could spend their evenings in debauched bliss, but the bane for law makers such as Claude, who worked hard to eradicate the infestation of prostitutes.

Pulling his black cloak over his head, Frollo turned to his younger brother. "You understand the task at hand, or must I explain it _again_?" he asked bitingly.

Jehan smiled confidently. "Don't worry, Claude. I am well aware of what to do and you can count on me."

The judge cast him a doubtful look. He might have made it seem like Jehan could fully handle this assignment, but in case something should go awry he had conjured a few backup plans. Trusting the boy completely would be like riding a blind horse into battle anyway.

Before the blond haired hellion could head off into the fray, Frollo yanked him back and warned him, "If you lose yourself to the power of drink tonight and neglect to do your part, then you can forget about me paying you!"

Snatching his arm away, Jehan retorted, "Have some faith in me! I promise you will have Cezanne by the end of the night!" Without another word, the boy sauntered off towards the tavern.

As Frollo slipped into the darkness with the place in view, he inwardly prayed that his brother would be safe considering he was short on family.

_He is the only one left,_ he mulled.

Frollo had posted numerous guards around the shady establishment, who also hid themselves behind walls and in alleys, weapons at the ready for the Minister's command; though he hoped that such excessive reinforcements would not be necessary for this operation.

Underneath his stoic demeanor, Frollo could feel anxiety rising at the thought of his brother actually helping him in trying to apprehend a criminal. The very thought unsettled him: his once innocent baby brother was going to use his drinking and gambling as ploy to lure out a known felon.

_Be careful Jehan,_ he thought as he eyed the tavern warily.

X

The teen deeply inhaled the familiar scent of cheap wine and swill pervading the familiar locale. His fellow patrons filled their gullets with spirits, cursed like sailors, and burned through their earnings on gambling. Such establishments had always been homes away from home for Jehan as he strode through.

"Jehan!" called a boisterous voice that could match his own. The boy smiled as his friend made his way towards him with two bottles in hand. With a plain black doublet, short unruly brown hair, and a trustworthy face, this handsome boy could not have passed for a delinquent at first glance. However, he equated Jehan's form of being another wolf in sheep's clothing with his shared love of mischiefmaking.

"Robin!" the young Frollo greeted with hearty pat on the back.

Handing one bottle to Jehan, who readily took a thirsty swig, Robin said, "Come along, my friend. I've met a couple of lovely girls from out of town and they would love to meet the famous _Jehan Frollo du Moulin!_"

Before he could impulsively head off to make acquaintances with said women, Jehan remembered the promise he made to Claude. Claude's trust in him was already hanging by a thread; if he allowed this slip-up, then he would never trust Jehan with anything and probably cut his allowance.

His usually happy façade was replaced with a crest-fallen expression of deep thought.

"You'll have to excuse me," Jehan apologized. "But tonight my business lies with Henry Cezanne. Have you seen him by any chance?"

His friend looked disappointed. "Business?" he questioned. "What do you mean by _business_?" For a moment, Robin pondered Jehan's statement before looking at him skeptically and asking, "This wouldn't have anything to do with the Minister, would it?"

Chugging down some more wine, Jehan then vaguely answered, "Just some things that need to be discussed, Robin. You'll have to court your lady friends without me tonight."

"If you say so. Cezanne's over there," he said pointing towards a dice table to where a group of rough-looking men gathered. Robin carefully looked over his shoulder and examined the group of rogues, most of them looked overly-brutish. "Don't get yourself killed."

"You sound like my brother." Jehan rolled his eyes, pushing Robin aside and making his way towards the group. Each of the men downed their drinks in a matter of seconds and kept a reluctant looking woman by their side.

Jehan kept his eyes on the man in the center: an imposing, Viking-like physique; long, unkempt brown hair; a rough, heavily-scarred face; a heavy fur coat; and a poniard secured at his side.

Taking a breath, he jumped headfirst. "Monsieur Cezanne! It's been a while!" he greeted.

Gulping his drink heavily and slamming his goblet down with a thud, the man studied Jehan.

"Yes…Jean, was it?" his voice raspy and indicated a hidden danger.

"_Jehan_, sir. I was wondering if you'd be up for a game. First one to a hundred wins?"

The posse surrounding him laughed a bit at the proposal. Cezanne smirked. "Well, who am I to deny a game? Loser buys the next round!"

X

"Are you positive that your brother can handle this, Minister?" Captain Gerard asked.

"Honestly…not entirely," Frollo answered as he inspected an arrow before loading it into a crossbow. "Which is why if Cezanne exits the tavern—with or without Jehan—I still want him arrested. However, our chances of doing so are much greater should Jehan succeed in drawing him out. It is all a matter of waiting, Captain."

"Do have faith in your brother, sir?"

Frollo scowled at him. "He's an idiot but he has some use, I suppose. Sadly, this is a last resort."

The judge prayed that Jehan hadn't found his way into trouble so soon.

X

"_100!_" Jehan proudly declared as the dice landed on the winning number ten to win the game. "Good game, old man!" he said, Cezanne grimacing at such a loss. Slowly reaching for his weapon, he would have gladly slit the boy's throat if it weren't for Jehan's next words.

"To show you that I am a good sport, drinks are on me!" the boy announced, receiving approving applause and cheers.

Robin approached his friend. "I take it that you've taken care of _business_? How much did your brother give you for tonight, Jehan?"

"_Enough!_" the blond boy laughed. "Just have another drink, Poussepain!"

Beer and wine flowed like an endless river as Jehan and his friends drank to Kingdom Come for hours on end. Laughter erupted from vulgar jokes and tales and fights broke out, but the good times never ceased. The teen reveled in the attention and admiration from his friends (including Cezanne) while he recounted his own exploits that were the cause of misery to his long-suffering brother.

"I wish you all could have seen my brother's face; I swear to God when he's angered, he could scare the horns off of the Devil himself!" Jehan was red as he howled in laughter and continued to drink like a fish.

Cezanne himself had lost most of his own wits to the power of alcohol and roared mercilessly from the teen's story. "Jean! No…_Jehan!_ You truly are brave man! I can't imagine anyone who could push the Minister of Justice so far and still live to tell the tale!"

"My brother is a chump! He may parade his title and power like Nero, but believe me: he is weak-willed and bends to my wishes at the snap of my fingers! I demand money and he hands it over without a second thought."

Cezanne blinked at the boy's statement. "But how? Everyone knows that the Minister is cruel, ruthless man."

Jehan shrugged and produced an intoxicated smile. "My brother says that I was hexed by a witch as an infant, so whenever I found myself in trouble…_'It's not my fault, Claude! I was cursed by the she-demon!'_ But that stopped working years ago. And he still gives me whatever I want!" That said the boy reached over the table for another drink.

Cezanne's scarred face softened as he frowned a bit. "A funny thing, your relationship with your brother; it's much different than that of your father!"

"My father?" Jehan repeated, his head swimming in alcohol. "My father's been dead for seventeen years!"

"I know! I remember growing up and seeing him—the _other_ Minister—and how he used to punish your brother out in public."

Jehan knitted his brows together, trying to focus on Cezanne's tale. "Really?"

Cezanne nodded. "And here you boast about your brother's leniency, but perhaps you ought to give him more credit. He could have been a lot harder on you as a lad."

Suddenly Jehan felt sick, whether it was from the copious amount of wine he had consumed since entering the tavern, or perhaps something else. Automatically he reached for his glass and shook off the feeling.

"Such wise words from such a rugged man!" he suddenly said. "But still, my brother has and _always will be_a stick in the mud! So I say, we should continue this celebration! Come, Monsieur Cezanne! We shall go in search of the finest women in Paris!"

"A wild man!" Cezanne cried enthusiastically. "If you insist! Let's be on our way!"

X

"Sir, if I may, how much longer are we to wait here?" Captain Gerard asked, stifling a yawn.

"An excellent question, Captain, one to which I unfortunately do not have the answer," Frollo replied as he leaned against the wall in the alley in which he waited, crossbow in hand. Jehan had gone into that tavern hours ago with a simple task and had yet to return.

_Perhaps I overestimated the poor boy's abilities,_ he pondered, his lean frame beginning to shiver from the biting cold.

"Do you think he's alright?" Gerard asked.

Frollo's lips turned into a frown at the question. Quickly disguising his worry, he answered, "If I know my brother, he is like a cockroach: he can survive anything. He may not possess the same sagacity that I held at his age, but somehow he always makes it out alive."

Suddenly the two men heard the sound of drunken laughter emerging from the tavern. They glanced to check if it was from some lost peasants, but were shocked to see Jehan Frollo stumbling about with Henry Cezanne in tow. Swiftly the judge and Captain hid themselves, prepared to spring their trap.

"Now, sir?" Gerard whispered, hand on the hilt of his sword at the ready.

"Wait until they're further out in the open," Frollo replied as he fixed his gaze on the two intoxicated buffoons staggering about.

"Come, Henry! I know where the prettiest girls are to be found at this hour!" he heard his little brother slur.

"Your treat, Monsieur du Moulin!" Cezanne responded.

Jehan patted the coin purse at his side, expecting to hear the jingle of coin and hearing nothing.

"Forgive me, Henry, but I seem to be out of money," he wearily said. "But don't worry! I'll just ask my brother for more! In fact, he should be meeting me here any moment!"

Cezanne turned around and eyed Jehan in disbelief. "_What?_ Your brother is coming _here_?!"

Jehan nodded. "Yes. He told me to meet him in front of the tavern, and he and his friends would come."

Within earshot, Frollo could hear the idiotic words tumble from his brother's drunken wine-stained lips and could only slide his hand over his face in exasperation.

Jehan continued, "Who knows? Maybe he's already here waiting for us." The boy searched around the dark area, looking for the Minister. "Claude! Claude, are you here, brother?!"

Out of his element, Jehan did not register the expression of livid fury on Cezanne's face as he suddenly seized the boy and instantly raised the poniard to Jehan's throat.

"Frollo!" he bellowed, red eyes scanning his surroundings. "Where are you?! Show yourself before I gouge your brother's eyes out!"

Frollo's eyes narrowed in alarm at Cezanne as he quickly called his men out from their hiding places and raised their weapons at the man who still held a struggling Jehan in his grip.

"Claude! Help me!" Jehan cried as the blade pressed further into his throat.


	12. Brothers Frollo

"Unhand him and come quietly!" the Captain commanded severely.

Frollo rolled his eyes at the Gerard's swaggering bravado as Cezanne chuckled at him while pressing the poniard hard against Jehan's Adam's apple.

He held the boy still and kept his red eyes locked with those of the Minister. The guards surrounded the two and steadied themselves as they waited Frollo's orders.

"Just release the boy," Frollo ordered, tightening his hold on his crossbow. "I assure you, he _isn't_ worth such trouble."

The drunken anger etched in Cezanne's face resembled a hungry wolf. "How low can you stoop, Minister?" he taunted. "Sending your own brother in as your _spy?_ He's not a very effective one either, is he? And don't you know how much I _despise_ a traitor?" He pressed the blade even harder, drawing some blood from Jehan's neck who whimpered in fear.

_"Claude!"_ Jehan cried again. "Help me! The plan didn't work!"

Frollo scoffed at this. "Oh, it worked for the most part; you just happened to go and compromise it upon its most crucial point!"

"Treacherous son of a whore!" Cezanne bellowed angrily at the boy, tightening his lock on him.

Frollo flinched at the look of intimidation that was evident in Jehan's face. "Monsieur Cezanne," Frollo calmly addressed, trying to fool the drunken madman into lowering his guard. "I implore that you to let my brother go, or else this _will_ end badly."

The man's eyes darted around to see the numerous soldiers armed to the teeth with their swords and arrows and ready to attack. Although, how often does someone have such leverage over the mighty Minister of Justice? "I will release dear little Jehan here…on a few _conditions._"

Frollo and Gerard glanced at each other in uncertainty and confusion, never lowering their weapons.

_Of course,_ Frollo thought sarcastically.

"I don't negotiate with lawbreakers," he deadpanned, pointing his crossbow.

"Sir," Gerard whispered. "What about your brother?"

The Minister displayed a frown of inner turmoil at the question, slightly unsure of how to answer. But he couldn't show vulnerability now.

Cezanne smirked. "How much does the life of this lying brat mean to you?"

Frollo examined the terror in Jehan's red-rimmed blue eyes and his heart wretched at the sight. He had to protect his brother at all costs…but letting a criminal hold power over him? Could he allow a man like this gain superiority over him in such peril?

_Others might try the same ploy to evade arrest,_ he mentally argued with himself. And what if his enforcements saw him as weak too? He could potentially lose all influence and authority he held over Paris; the last thing he needed was a rebellion against his power.

Then again…could he live knowing he wouldn't have taken that risk for his brother?

"What are your conditions?" he asked reluctantly, lowering his weapon a little.

Grinning triumphantly, Cezanne replied, "I knew you'd bend to that. You will allow me go free and I will release your boy. Once we do so, you will not pursue me or my men. Do you understand, _Minister?_"

His face grimacing, Frollo looked over to Jehan who could only choke out, "Claude…just do it!"

The arrogance instilled in the Minister decided on another approach. Surely the man was so inebriated that even he couldn't be serious about committing such malice. "And if I do not?" Frollo then asked skeptically, a quick smirk appearing to further taunt the man and his threat.

Cezanne gritted his teeth menacingly at the judge. "Perhaps this might change your mind."

Jehan wailed and crimson leaked from his side as the knife's blade entered his flesh, the sound and sight causing the judge's vision to turn red instantly.

_THWACK!_

_"Minister!"_ he barely heard Gerard exclaim in astonishment.

_"Jesus Christ, Claude!"_ Jehan's pained voiced screeched.

For a moment, the judge did not see anything and could only hear a faint buzzing in his ears, not registering anything around him. Shaking his head then blinking back to the present, the shocked man noticed the arrow from his crossbow gone. Frollo shifted his gaze and examined his handiwork: Cezanne lay on the cobblestone street in a heap with an arrow lodged in the center of his face, dark red streams pouring from the wound and fragmented bone caving into the injury. The silver moonlight from above made it especially unsettling.

Looking around, Jehan clutched at his side desperately and his guards' faces were all painted with bewilderment. Specks of blood hung on the ends of Jehan's blond curls as well as his shirt.

_"Claude, what have you done?!"_ Jehan cried shakily.

Doing his best to regain his composure, Frollo bitingly responded, "I protected you, of course, you feckless ingrate!"

"You _killed_ him! My God, you didn't have to _kill_ the man!"

Frollo sneered at Jehan's ignorance. "Would you rather I allow him to slit your throat and leave you for dead?"

Jehan opened and closed his mouth looking for a response but was at a loss for words. He studied his hand, which was now covered in blood. Suddenly he blanched and wobbled more on his feet than before, knees about to buckle under him. Frollo quickly gripped him by the arms and steadied him.

Seeing his men still confused and dumbfounded at the episode that had just occurred, Frollo instantly barked, "What are you all simply standing around for?! Have this mess cleaned up and have any associates of this man apprehended at once!" sending the men scrambling.

"Sir, what about your brother?" the Captain asked.

Holding the boy's faint form up, Frollo answered, "I have to treat his wound. See that such matters are attended to, Captain."

"Yes, sir!"

Before the Minister could take off, Gerard stopped him and quietly asked, "Sir, was all _that_ really necessary?"

Stoically, Frollo answered, "We may discuss ethics at another time, but I believe what transpired was _indeed_ necessary to prevent such a dangerous character from continuing to evade the law. Right now I must tend to this one's injury before it becomes infected."

With some trouble, Frollo managed to lift his wounded brother up onto his horse. Removing his black cape, he bundled it and pressed it the gash to suppress the bleeding. He then made headway towards the Palace of Justice, all the while trying to wrap his mind around what had just occurred.

X

It was fortunate that Jehan was out cold while his brother treated his knife wound, considering the boy would have whined to Kingdom Come if he was awake. After stitching up his unconscious brother, Frollo left him to sleep it off in one of the Palace's many guestrooms. Meanwhile, the judge was left to lament in his study. As he sat at his desk, he stared blankly at the surface trying to recall what had gone through his mind during his action.

_Impulsively killing a man? Seems more along the lines of some foolhardy youth set on trying to prove himself,_ he thought to himself confused.

No, it hadn't been the first time he had taken the life of another (his track record was quite evident of that). But only once had killed another without such intent, and that occurred on that one winter's night in front of Notre Dame. He had always covered up that episode by asserting that his judicial duty required him of doing so. It was instinctive that he would give such a response to the Captain's question about the need for such violence when rescuing his brother.

It just seemed so out of character for the judge. But at the same time, it made perfect sense: his familial instincts had simply taken over and he did what he felt he needed to in order to protect his younger brother, like a wolf protecting its pack. It took him back to the days as a young man and having to scale a tall oak when Jehan had marooned himself among the branches. Even then, the serious Minister could not help but laugh a little at the thought of such dedication he had to his naïve teenage brother.

_As long as one less bloodthirsty savage is out of the way, then everything seemed to have worked itself out._

X

The Minister had decided to continue his work from his study since it seemed wiser than to be out and about while Jehan was still recovering. Orange light from the late day's sun streamed in through the windows of his study. A slow knock at the door broke the concentration of his work, Frollo beckoning them to enter.

"Claude?" Jehan's voice lowly addressed, causing his brother to look up immediately at the teen entering his study. His steps were slow and his eyes seemed darker; obviously the injury of his side still ailed him.

"You're looking well, at least better than yesterday," Frollo commented, leaning back in his chair. He motioned for his brother to sit down.

Jehan's eyes were red and most of his energy was still sapped from him, but took a seat before his brother, the Minister. Sheepishly, he then said, "I wanted to thank you, Claude. You know…for everything."

Frollo raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you mean preventing you from being murdered by a maniacal crimelord or keeping you from bleeding to death?"

Jehan averted his gaze from the judge. "Both. And…I'm sorry about getting into trouble."

For a moment, Frollo wanted to admonish Jehan for his careless behavior, but the notion of the boy actually apologizing for his errors and showing gratitude was one that should be savored. He simply nodded and replied, "You are forgiven. Although it would do you well to not be so rash in your decision making. Still," pulling open one of the drawers of his desk, Frollo retrieved a coin purse and placed it in front of Jehan. "A deal is a deal and Cezanne is no more."

Taking it, Jehan counted the silver pieces and perked up a little, brightly saying, "Don't worry, Claude; next time I promise things will go over more smoothly!"

Frollo's eyes flickered away from his brother's. "I appreciate such sentiment, however, there will not be a "next time," given the circumstances that followed because of you. So, it appears that we both have learned something: _you_ need to be wiser about your actions, and I should not involve you in my work."

Jehan slumped in his seat, pouting at the stern faced Minister. "That's a shame," he said. "It was fun working with you, Claude. Despite this," he pointed to his side, indicating his wound.

"Yes, you are a paradigm of gallantry," Frollo sarcastically commented. "Chances are that such an injury will leave only a small scar so you needn't worry about the damage done to your precious skin."

Jehan sneered. "I guess, and maybe the girls might like it," his brother scoffing at this.

_Figures,_ Claude thought sardonically.

"But hey, if you don't need my help, then you can always get your boy in the bell tower to do your dirty work in the future."

Frollo let out a low chuckle. "True, but first thing is first: he needs to evidence that he has some kind of ability that might deem useful."

Frollo rose from his seat and ventured across the room, laying down two glasses upon his return. Taking out the keys from his pocket he then unlocked one of the drawers of his desk, pulling out a dark bottle and uncorking it.

"Here," he said, pouring Jehan a glass before one for himself.

Jehan examined the amber colored beverage and inhaled its scent. "Brandy? Very nice."

Taking his own glass, the judge raised it. "To loyalty: may we always show dedication to those whom we owe our very livelihoods."

"And to brotherhood: because blood is thicker than water."

Clinking their glasses, the brothers downed their drinks in unison. For a moment they just sat in silence, until the younger spoke up. "Did you really have to kill him?"

The judge's eyes traveled to a small crucifix on the far side of room as though looking for the answer. "No, I suppose not," he responded nonchalantly. "The intent of the plan was to arrest him so that I may put him on trial. However, in a turn of events like such, the plan became compromised and I did what I felt was required of me for the good of both you _and_ the city. If that meant that a crooked man lost his life in the process, then so be it."

"Yeah, but Claude, you shot the man with an arrow and acted like it was nothing. Didn't that bother you?"

Frollo shrugged. "That's the essence of my position. I've seen things much more gruesome and horrific than that of last night: people beaten, maimed, mutilated, disemboweled. Eventually it becomes second nature," Frollo explained as he refilled both of their glasses.

Jehan looked unsurely at his brother. "That's a very cheerful mindset, brother. Have you always been like this?"

"More or less," the Minister answered taking another sip.

Jehan tapped his fingers on the desk in thought. "You know, Cezanne brought up something about you when we were drinking."

"Whatever it was, I'm sure it cannot be any worse than the countless insults that have befallen me before. What did he say?"

Jehan looked at his drink. "I don't remember much, but something about how our father used to punish you…_a lot._"

Frollo raised his eyebrows and shifted his gaze to his glass in hand, looking somewhat ashamed at the question.

Jehan studied his brother's solemn expression, trying to read him. "How much of that statement is true?"

He bit his lip then took a drink from his brandy before replying, "It amazes me that in your whole life you have seldom ever questioned my upbringing."

"Just answer the question."

"I told you that there is much that you don't know about me, Jehan. The past is in the past and I have since moved on. The matter is of no importance or concern of yours so I suggest you drop it."

The teen shrugged. "I just want to know more about our family. But now I think I'm starting to see _why_ you don't ever want to talk about it."

Frollo shook his head, trying to prevent any buried memories from creeping up on him that might find their way out into open discussion. "I've already explained to you that our family was no different than any other of the nobility. Except ours was more…_aggressive_ than preferred."

"So Cezanne was telling the truth then?"

Running his fingers through his dark gray hair, Frollo suddenly came to the realization that perhaps it was time to be honest with his brother about his background.

"Let me show you something," the judge said grimly. Putting his glass aside, he then reached for the end of the purple sleeve on his right arm and pulled it towards himself, revealing his pale skin. He pointed to a long faded scar that ran up his forearm from his elbow.

Jehan's cerulean eyes widened at the sight. "What's that from?" his brother inquired, now interested. Jehan was not even aware that his brother had scars, simply assuming that a studious and serious man like him would be the last person he'd imagine carrying something as painful.

"Let us just say that this was a much _lighter_ punishment in comparison to the others: specifically, being pushed down a few of the Palace's steps." Quickly, the Minister pulled his sleeve back over, again hiding under the dark fabric. The marks on his flesh were all harrowing memories that he made sure others did not have to know about, especially those that ran deeper than others.

"You may curse and spit at me all you wish," Frollo suddenly said, narrowing his eyes darkly. "But I _never_ laid a hand on you, no matter how deserving you were." Raising his glass, he took a much deeper drink, suddenly regretful that he might have shown weakness by sharing something so personal.

Jehan pursed his lips. "Alright, Claude," he took a drink himself. "But can I just say that if what I've been told is true, then I hope you're not that kind of father towards your own son."

"That is the last thing I want to do."

***A/n: I felt like I needed a more in-depth/ sentimental moment between the brothers. Just where they're not fighting and and driving each other crazy and just sitting an talking. I appreciate the reviews I've gotten (no matter how limited) cause I hope I'm doing right by my readers.**

**Btw, I'm going to skip a couple years next chapter so be prepared!**

**P.S. If you found me on deviantart and liked my artwork ,thank you so much for further support, it means a lot!**


	13. Lips of Deceit

**Three years later…**

With a wicker basket nestled in the crook of his arm, the judge made his way up the winding staircase to the bell tower.

December had gone and so had another year of Frollo's guardianship over his hunchbacked ward. Recently the Minister had begun reading to the boy from the Bible given that he was finally old enough to grasp some of it; Frollo would then discuss the stories with Quasimodo to test his comprehension. He was a quiet boy, and probably not in the same precocious league as the Minister at such an age, but still looked up to his adoptive father in admiration and loyalty and loved his daily visits.

Climbing higher, the Minister could hear the boy's faint voice; Quasimodo had recently taken up the habit of speaking with the numerous gargoyles around the bell tower, adopting them as companions of sorts. Though Frollo wanted to inform him that they were simply inanimate objects, he knew his words would fall on deft ears since it wasn't like the boy had many friends to substitute them with anyway.

"_It looks like fun, but what are they doing?_" Frollo heard his ward quietly ask his stone compatriots. "_Maybe Master will know!_"

"Quasimodo!" the Minister's dark voice echoed as he climbed the last few steps.

"Master!" the hunchbacked child stomped towards him, his little jagged teeth showing in his innocent grin.

The Minister of Justice might have fed and clothed Quasimodo, but he made it perfectly clear to the child at a young age that he was his keeper and shall be addressed as such. Though the boy's first year of speech was spent addressing him as "Cloud," Frollo had come to like the title of "Master" much more than a fatherly one, despite Jehan and the Archdeacon's pestering encouragement. The title reflected the power and influence that he would hold over his young ward, which only seemed to inflate the Minister's ego further.

"Good morning, dear boy," Frollo greeted monotonously, patting him gently on his red-haired head. "Conversing with your so-called "friends," I see," Quasimodo nodding enthusiastically.

Frollo motioned for the child to follow him, taking a seat at the small wooden table and removing his hat. Retrieving the tableware from a nearby shelf, Frollo filled the wooden cup with water and his goblet with wine. As he emptied the contents of the basket, Quasimodo suddenly came to his master's side and tugged on his sleeve.

"Master, come see!" he hurriedly said.

Raising his eyebrow at him, Frollo asked, "Quasimodo, what's come over you? What have you to show me?"

Quasimodo pointed his small finger towards the balcony of the tower. "It's outside, Master! Come and see!"

Reluctantly Frollo got to his feet after deciding that there was no use in trying to argue with a small child. Quasimodo led him outside, his gaze pointed down towards the square as he looked on through the stone banisters, Frollo instantly groaning in annoyance at the sight.

"What's _that_, Master?" Quasimodo asked quizzically, pointing.

Tents of all colors were being erected, flags and banners waving, stages being constructed; they could only indicate one thing.

"An annual nuisance of calamity, that's what," he muttered, gripping the ledge as his dark eyes pierced the sight of future pandemonium with disdain.

Though the boy heard his master's low-voiced curse, he still had no idea what he meant and looked confusedly at the man.

Frollo looked back at the boy and answered, "_That_, Quasimodo, is a gathering of chaos that the city celebrates every year after Advent: appropriately dubbed the"Festival of Fools",which, sadly, I must attend tomorrow."

Last year the townspeople had agreed to skip the celebration on account of heavy snow. The year before that, Quasimodo had been too young to take the sight into consideration.

"What do they do there, Master?" Quasimodo inquired further.

"Ridiculous activities: dancing, singing, drinking ale and gorging themselves on food as if the Rapture is nearing. Afterwards, the entire city will be three sheets to the wind and lose an entire day of productivity!" he vented bitterly as he sneered at the idea of the whole of Paris sleeping off the effects of never-ending beer.

_Lounging around like a bunch of slothful vagrants._

The boy smiled fondly down at the people below taking no heed to Frollo's condemnation of the event. "It looks like fun! Master, may I go?"

A jolt ran up the Minister's spine at such a request. To be accompanied by such a miniature monstrosity was unfathomable given that he was constantly being humiliated by his brother.

He responded, "I don't think that would be the wisest _or_ safest decision. Therefore, it is not a possibility, I'm afraid."

Quasimodo's smile faded at his mentor's words. "Why not?"

Frollo lowered himself slightly and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Dear Quasimodo, there is so much evil out there in this cruel world; vice and sin that I must ensure that you _never_ have to see or live amongst. Truly the church is the only environment that can protect you from its wickedness. You understand, don't you, my boy?"

Quasimodo took another glance at the preparations below before turning back to the judge and responding, "Yes, Master."

A smile crept upon Frollo's face at this demonstration of authority. For months now, he instilled to Quasimodo that the world was a dark and merciless place, from which he was safe in the confines of the bell tower. He ushered the child back inside, seating him again at the table. Retrieving the book from his basket, the judge opened it up to his place. "Now then, we left on after the fall of Man; next, Cain and Abel."

Frollo told of the tale of the ancient fratricide born of jealousy, Quasimodo's young mind barely listening to the technical terms of his master's tale (prompting Frollo to put most of it in layman's terms). Ending with the birth of Seth, "…'_At that_ _time men began to call on the name of the Lord._' " Closing his book, he narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Now, what we have learned from Cain and Abel is that jealousy only leads down the path of destruction, and we must be grateful for our place in life. Cain was not; killing his own brother as a result and ultimately cast away by God as punishment. Do you understand, Quasimodo?"

Teal eyes blinked at Frollo, unable to tell whether or not he did. "What's a brother, Master? And a son?"

Frollo was taken aback and his mouth hung agape for a moment, but he knew that the question was inevitable. "Well," he began. "A brother is a boy or man born to the same mother as someone, such as what Jehan is to me. A son is a male belonging to a set of parents."

"And what are parents?"

Frollo nervously looked down at the rings on his fingers. "Parents are…" his eyes darted from Quasimodo to the rafters above and the broken statue heads littered around. "They are a man and woman who have children of their own; the man is the father, the woman the mother. If they are not properly married, then the children born between them are impure in the eyes of God."

"Does everyone have parents?" Quasimodo continued to ask, much to the Minister's chagrin.

_Oh God, please stop asking me!_ He inwardly begged.

"Originally," he answered vaguely. "However, not everyone has the opportunity to have their parents in their lives."

"Why not?

"Sometimes life is unpredictable and parents leave their children's lives. Other times, children never know their parents or the parents never know their children."

Quasimodo eyed the tableware, deep in thought and giving the judge a chance to collect himself by taking a thirsty drink from his goblet. It was truly something that he was hit by a multitude of questions by an otherwise quiet and taciturn boy, something that he was very unprepared for.

Before long, Quasimodo looked back at him and asked, "Do _you_ have parents, Master?"

Cold gray eyes widened at this inquiry. "Of course I did, though it was many years ago as they have both moved on." He looked at his fingers nervously drumming on the wooden surface.

"Where?"

Looking up at the gloomy atmosphere surrounding the bells high in the rafters, Frollo replied, "To the Lord's keep, far away in the Kingdom of Heaven hopefully."

The hunchback boy stared intensely at the Minister who now kept his eyes locked on his jittery, twitching fingers. "Master?" he asked.

Frollo sighed in irritability. "Yes?"

"Where are _my_ parents?"

The judge froze, the question shaking him to his core. Suddenly his mind flashed images of that night: kicking the gypsy woman down the steps, discovering the child's deformity, and nearly disposing of it in the nearby well. Anxiously he had hoped that out of all of the questions regarding family, this would not be one of them. He did not want to have to explain himself again over the incident.

_Then again,_ he thought. _If he is barely making such an inquiry, surely whatever I recount he would assume to be fact._

The cogs in his head turned at breakneck speed as he plotted such a scheme. If he could weave a new tale about the fate of the boy's parents, it might just strengthen his faith and loyalty to the judge.

Schooling his expression, he responded with false pity, "It pains me to say this, Quasimodo, but neither of your parents could be found anywhere."

The boy's expression fell into one of shock and alarm. "Wh-What happened to them, Master?"

The Minister shook his head in feigned grief. "I know not of what became of your father, but it was your _mother_ who had left you on the steps of this church. Many of the townsfolk had gathered and did nothing to help you, but it was I alone who had taken it upon myself to raise you and care for you as my own. Had it not been for me, you could have perished at the hands of the townsfolk!"

Quasimodo tore his deformed gaze from the man and stared down at the table's surface, a small choking noise escaping him. Frollo noticed that tears now streamed down the child's face.

Lightly gripping his shoulder, Frollo comfortingly said, "There, there, Quasimodo. It is an awful thing to do to one's own child, but know that you have a guardian who has saved you from great harm and given you a place to call home."

Quasimodo nodded and looked up at the tall judge beside him. Before Frollo could say another word, he felt the boy's small arms encircle him in a tight embrace. Frollo looked down at the sniffling child who buried his face in the obsidian robes. Not knowing what to do, he glanced around in confusion and simply let Quasimodo cry it out for a while.

"Come now, my boy," Frollo calmly spoke. "You needn't worry about something that happened so long ago. As I have previously stated: you have a guardian who provides for you as no other, and for this you should be grateful."

Gently he pulled Quasimodo away from his now tear stained robes, the boy finally stopping his crying as he wiped away the last of his tears with his tunic sleeve. Frollo smiled at the regaining of the boy's composure and suggested that they finish their meal.

Breakfast was eaten in silence much to the Minister's reprieve. Looking up, he noticed the reclusive church bell ringer climbing up towards the bells; Frollo and Quasimodo covering their ears as the man above chimed the hour.

After the resonance of the mighty bells finally died down, the judge rose and said, "It appears that I must be off. There is much to do and time is of the essence," placing his hat back on and turning towards the stairs. As he left, Quasimodo stared in mystification at the industrious nature of his master. Soon afterwards, he lumbered back outside, eager to watch the festival from above.

X

The heavy doors of Notre Dame were hastily pushed open as the Minister of Justice struggled inside with his inebriated brother squirming in his arms.

"Come on, Claude!" Jehan slurred, his face bright red and stinking of ale. "The festival is barely getting underway!" His voice echoed throughout the empty nave.

The judge groaned as Jehan pushed him in an attempt to get back to the celebration outside. Frollo had found his brother early on trying to court a few dancers at the festival and instantly detected no good from him. "Given your history, I have decided that you will _not_ be partaking in the festivities this year. The day is demanding enough without your capricious behavior getting the better of you again!"

"Minister? Jehan?" The Archdeacon was approaching quickly as he saw the brothers again in one of their squabbles. "What's going on here? Shouldn't you two be at the festival?"

Still gripping Jehan tightly, Frollo looked at the Archdeacon. "I'm glad you are here, Father. Is there anywhere that I might detain this one until the day's madness has ceased?"

"Don't listen to him, Father!" Jehan cried, his blond curls disheveled and trying to wriggle out of his brother's hold. "Claude just envies me because _he_ has to work during the festival!"

With a roll of his eyes, Frollo simply replied, "I wish that were true. Anyway," he looked back to the perplexed looking Archdeacon. "May I? I cannot risk him wreaking more havoc than necessary."

With Jehan looking more than intoxicated from today's endless drinks and the expression of growing impatience of that of his brother, Father Augustin hesitantly complied. He led the judge to one of the back cells of the church, Frollo instantly pushing his brother in and slamming the door shut.

Ignoring Jehan's slurred protests, Frollo locked it and turned again to the Archdeacon. "I will return for my brother in due time, until then make sure that he stays here."

"As you wish, Minister," he monotonously replied, knowing all too well that trying to break up the brothers in a fight was akin to trying to boil the ocean.

Already the day was starting to take its toll on the weary judge, who could feel a headache forming in his skull. At least the absence of his pest of a brother would make the day more bearable. Still, he needed something to remedy this pain _now_.

It was then Frollo remembered that he still had wine up in the bell tower that might be of aid.

_One drink before having to return to such chaos couldn't hurt,_ he told himself as he turned towards the spiral staircase and began climbing his way up, his pulse pounding heavily in his ears.

"Master, you're back!" Quasimodo greeted spiritedly as he saw his adoptive father marching up the wooden stairs again.

Falsely smiling, Frollo nodded and responded, "I am only here to retrieve something. After which, I must be on my way immediately." Brushing past the boy, Frollo went straight to the top shelf where his wine was stashed.

Uncorking it quickly, the judge took a hearty swig from the bottle much to Quasimodo's confusion, the sweet red substance relieving his nerves instantly. The boy came to Frollo's side and stared up at him. Corking the bottle up and returning it to its place, Frollo looked down his long nose at Quasimodo and raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

"What's it like out there, Master?" he curiously asked. "I heard singing and shouting. It sounds like fun!"

The Minister scoffed. "Our definitions of 'fun' are quite different," he quipped as he walked out towards the balcony. Looking down again at the sea of peasants gathered together, Frollo sneered at their indulgent delights. The blue sky, throngs of ebullient festival goers, and colors bursting from all ends; just looking at such joviality left him feeling drained. He dreaded being forced to return and endure another painstaking year of observing the common man shun his virtues for a day of frivolous behavior.

_I should have done away with this damn revelry years ago,_ he thought cynically.

"Be forever grateful that you do not have to take part in such foolish nonsense, Quasimodo," he said, his back still turned.

Sighing weakly, he walked back into the belfry and expected to hear the voice of his ward, probably asking another question about the Feast of Fools. Hearing nothing, the judge scanned around for the boy, but found nothing.

"Quasimodo?" he called, still glancing around for him. He peeked around some nearby broken gargoyles and brushed away the curtain that concealed the boy's sleeping area, only to find that he was still nowhere to be found. Trying not keep his frayed nerves at bay, he continued to search any other nook and cranny that Quasimodo has been known to inhabit, but to no avail.

_Oh no._

With a quickened pace, he moved forward to the stairs and descended quickly, hoping to God that the boy was simply hiding somewhere in the lower rafters or something. As he approached the spiral staircase, Frollo could hear the boy's footsteps echoing as they clopped down the stairs eagerly, his heartbeat picking up speed.

_The door!_

Stewing in such a relentless headache, he had been so quick to get in and out of the bell tower that he had foolishly forget to close, let alone lock, the door at the bottom of the staircase.

"Quasimodo!" he called, rushing down the steps.

The restless boy stomped down the stairs, the Minister racing to catch up with him. Quasimodo ran (if it could be called that) through the empty nave before coming to a halt at the imposing wooden doors, misshapen eyes staring up at the intricate design above in wonderment.

Out of unbearable curiosity, Quasimodo lumbered forward stretching out his small hand. Frollo, finally reaching the bottom of the staircase, laid his eyes on the boy in bafflement, quickly beckoned, "Quasimodo!"

The boy, too lost in his juvenile fascination, seemed to not hear his master, only inching forward closer to the doors. Perhaps the Master was wrong and the world out there was not as terrifying as he purported it to be…

"Quasimodo, stop _this instant!_"

The hunchbacked boy suddenly heard the low voice of the Minister and gasped in fear at the sudden sight of his master's twisted expression of livid rage upon the realization that Frollo now held his small arm in his iron-like grasp, swiftly dragging him away from the church's entrance and back up the staircase.

Quasimodo was absolutely petrified that half-way up the journey Frollo had still not reprehended him. The Minister's breathing was laborious with frustration and beads of sweat collected on his forehead, never bothering to look at the child he held forcefully pulled up the staircase. He only kept his eyes set ahead and as he frowned heavily with displeasure.

When the pair reached the top of the tower, Frollo released his hold on the boy and turned away, gripping one of the wooden beams nearby and turning his knuckles white. Back stooped and his other hand pinched the bridge of his nose, Quasimodo dared not say anything out of fear that he could aggravate the judge further.

Frollo's jaw tightened he whipped around to face the child, arm suddenly raised back and he impulsively wanted to strike him down for such insolence.

Eye widening, Quasimodo raised his small arms in defense as he expected the judge's heavy blow for his actions.

Suddenly Frollo saw his ward's terror-stricken face as he shrunk in fear of his master's fury. He could see himself cowering from his own father's rage as he trounced the young Minister for his own wrongdoings. Letting his hand fall to his side, Frollo turned back and breathed as tried to collect himself.

Frollo cursed himself for his anger overwhelming him and mentally admitted that he never allowed it to be displayed so evidently in front of his ward. He knew that such emotion stemmed from the idea that Quasimodo had attempted to venture outside and explore the world that he had so feverishly condemned. He had never even allowed the boy to leave the bell tower, let alone Notre Dame.

_And so it begins_…he thought.

Taking a last breath to calm himself, Frollo then faced Quasimodo who looked away in shame, plump arms hanging shielding his face from whatever his master might do.

"Quasimodo," he said firmly but trying not to sound too stern.

"Y-yes, Master?" Quasimodo squeaked out, his eyes glued to the dusty floor.

"Look at me when I speak to you," Frollo ordered, Quasimodo mechanically obeying. "I have reminded you countless times of the terrible nature that lies outside the walls of the church, have I not?"

"Yes, Master."

"Precisely. I have always emphasized that the world is a cold and dangerous place; a place that one should try to limit his time in and dread every moment, particularly, a person such as yourself."

Quasimodo sniffed and his blue eyes now shone with tears building up at his adoptive father's bleak scolding.

Out of some quick inner concession for being so harsh, Frollo placed a gentle hand on Quasimodo's protruding hump, the boy looking up at the looming judge pitifully.

"Quasimodo, understand that I only keep you here to shield you from the horrors and pains of the world. It would be best for all of us that you stay here in the safety of the church. Do you understand?"

The boy could only nod in agreement with his master's words. Frollo, in turn, lightly ruffled the boy's red hair and half-heartedly replied, "Good lad then."

Frollo stepped forward to leave and return to the festival when he suddenly felt a small tug at his cape, blinking stupidly as he saw Quasimodo looking up at him inquisitively.

"Master?" the boy's small voice addressed. "What do you mean a 'person like me'? Why can't I go outside like you?"

Another question that was bound to manifest itself sooner or later.

Frollo knelt down to Quasimodo's eye level and responded, "There is no proper way to say this, Quasimodo, but you are not normal; you do not resemble any other person in the world. For such a trait, you will not be rewarded, only hated and shunned. Should you go out into the world, you will never find anyone who will accept you as I do. They will insult you, hurt you, and deem you a monster. Your place is here in the bell tower where they cannot do such things."

Quasimodo hung his head at the realization that Frollo was right. The few people that he interacted with in the church more closely resembled his master in terms of appearance; Quasimodo had contemplated it before when he would see his reflection in a pail of water, before seeing it as his own unique look—not deformity and hideousness.

"They won't like me because I'm different?" he timidly repeated.

Frollo nodded gravely before rising up to stand tall. "It is a cold truth, but yes; a harsh reality that we must endure as we go about our days in this miserable world."

"What about you, Master?"

"My role is to punish the evil-doers; to make the world more bearable by cleansing it of such filth. I know my place in this world, and what is yours, Quasimodo?"

The boy twiddled his thumbs. "To stay up here?"

"Correct." Frollo turned to exit the tower, determined to get the rest of this day over with as soon as possible. He gave a self-assured smirk, hopeful that such a lecture would prevent any future defiance.

X

"Was he any trouble?" Frollo asked, retrieving the key from his pocket as he approached the back cell containing his brother. The day had finally drawn to a close and another Feast of Fools had come and gone to the Minister's relief and he once again returned to Notre Dame to feed his foster son dinner and release his brother.

"Of course not," Father Augustin replied. "You know your brother, Claude. He'll kick and scream until he tires himself out."

"Always," he agreed, unlocking the door and swinging it open. Inside Jehan lay huddled on the stone floor, obviously still asleep. Stepping forward, Frollo nudged him in the back with his boot only for Jehan to respond with a tired groan.

"Would it be too much trouble if I just left him here until he's back among the living?" Frollo asked the Archdeacon exhaustedly. "Unfortunately I don't have time to wait for him to wake and escort him back to his home."

"No trouble at all. Should he ask, I shall tell him that you had matters to attend to."

Frollo nodded. "Very well." With that, the judge and Archdeacon turned and left the sleeping man in his unlocked cell.

An hour or so had passed before Jehan woke from his intoxicated lethargy and warily raised himself up. Much to his delight, the door from his cell was unlocked.

The inside of the church was dark from the falling sun outside, the colors of the rose window becoming less distinct. If it was this late and the cell door wasn't locked, then maybe Claude was still here in the church, no doubt with Quasimodo. The idea in his cloudy mind, Jehan made way for the steps to the bell tower.

He kept his hands plastered to the stone wall as he clumsily trekked up the staircase, fighting every urge to vomit all of the poison he had consumed during the day.

"Claude!" he shouted weakly when he finally made it. "Claude, you here?"

Glancing around, he was surprised to see a small figure emerge from behind a wooden beam and shyly stare at him.

Crookedly smiling, he said, "Evening, Quasi. Have you seen my brother tonight?"

Rubbing at his good eye tiredly, he answered, "Master left."

"Dammit, Claude!" Jehan cursed under his breath and slammed his fist against the palm of his hand in frustration.

Quasimodo recoiled a bit at Jehan. "He was angry, Jehan."

The young man laughed at the statement. "When is he _not_?" Waving his hand.

Quasimodo looked down at the floorboards. "He never gets mad at me."

Jehan's laughter ceased at this. "Wait, Claude was mad at _you_?"

The boy nodded sadly. Jehan looked at him in disbelief. "Huh…what did you do to piss him off?"

Quasimodo forgot the reprimand he should have given Jehan for his use of colorful language, instead sniffling and answering, "I tried to go outside. He told me to stay here because it's dangerous."

Crossing his arms, Jehan nodded. "Yep, that sounds like my brother. But then again, who am _I _to argue with his "superior intellect"? No point in trying to fight with him; that's a battle that's lost as soon as it begins!"

Quasimodo shuffled closer to Jehan. "Does he always get mad like that?"

Jehan smirked. "Don't worry, Quasi. Claude gets mad at me like that _all _the time. At least you haven't seen him when he's drunk; not a good time to be around my brother." He chuckled at the thought, Quasimodo looking at him in confusion.

"I don't like when Master is mad at me," Quasimodo stated sadly.

Something about the boy's disappointment in himself unnerved Jehan, given that he himself had never taken his brother's frustration over his behavior into consideration. Quasimodo showed only dedication towards the judge, and it didn't look like that was changing anytime soon.

"Well, just try not to make him angry again. If he says to stay up here, just listen to him. Can you do that?" he asked softly, kneeling to reach eye level with the boy.

Quasimodo looked up to his de facto uncle with his dark blue eyes and nodded. Jehan patted him lightly on the shoulder and commented, "Good. The last thing my brother needs is the both of us acting up!"

***A/n: Sorry that this is a longer chapter, but I couldn't resist! I figured that the story was too slow and it was time to fast forward and start **_**really**_** developing Frollo's relationship with Quasimodo. Now we get to see Frollo using his famous scare tactics on Quasi! I'm working on what Jehan's relationship with his adoptive nephew would be. Heads up: next chapter we might see a couple of familiar faces!**

**I want to thank you guys for all the views, and don't be afraid to leave reviews! They encourage me to keep up with this story! To owleyes1213: glad I can be an influence on someone's story!**

**Btw, if you haven't already, you should totally check out the story "Monster Lines" by owleyes1213 and "Profondeurs Interieures" by dionysuspark; they're both really well-written stories that I personally cannot wait to read more of!**


	14. Damn Gypsies

_A book in hand—the title unreadable, but the mass of it indicating its abundance of knowledge—the small boy sat high up on a rooftop somewhere contently, overlooking the surrounding trees and gray skies in his dead silent environment._

_Suddenly the sound of approaching hooves beckoned his attention away. Turning, he crouched low towards the edge to see who was making their way towards his homestead._

_He kept his head low as he examined a large man dismounting a black horse, a bronze skinned beauty in his hold. Her attire contrasted greatly with his dark black and red fur-lined coat, herself covered in magnificent teals, greens, and gold. Holding a wide, calloused hand out to help her down, the bearded man flashed her a desirous grin, returned by her own, before leading her into the grand manor, black chaperon sash trailing behind him, the pair never noticed the pair of eyes following them from above._

_The sight was appalling…_

_No…this isn't right!_

The judge heard himself gasp out, sitting up and still covered in darkness, only lit by the thin sliver of moonlight streaming in through his windows.

Frollo could feel the sweat on his forehead as he pressed his hands to his face trying to collect himself. How he detested dreams like these: ones that interrupted his night's sleep by resurrecting visions of the past, ones that he was not fond of welcoming back.

_Damn gypsies,_ he sluggishly cursed before slumping back against the mattress and trying to sleep the rest of the night in peace.

X

As the Minister of Justice rode down the cobblestone streets atop his coal black steed, he was greeted by the usual cautious looks of the Parisian commoners. He always reveled in omnipresence that he seemed to hold over the city: peasants ever mindful of the almighty judge and his lackeys that could be just around the corner. It plagued him to no end that no matter how many of their kind he did away with, the gypsies of Paris could never stay in line for long. He conjured up any kind of loophole that could result in the arrest (or worse) for even something as simple as panhandling. Though the day was young, there was bound to be a few unwitting gypsies that he could stamp out before dusk.

He steered his horse forward on his rounds towards the cathedral. The cool late winter air was refreshing, gently whipping the red sash of his hat as he rode, keeping a keen eye glancing around to make sure everything was as it should be. As he drew closer to the square, Frollo's eyes locked onto a peculiar looking stand that was surrounded by small children, instantly assuming that no good could come of this spectacle.

Drawing his horse up to a reasonable distance, Frollo soon discovered why so many of the town's children had gathered: it was another gypsy puppet show, making the judge sneer in response.

A teenage gypsy boy adorned with a bright purple mask, short black beard, and whimsical purple hat with a yellow feather sticking out of it was the culprit of this show. In one hand he held a paper snake on a wooden rod, a puppet of a princess on the other.

"And the snake said, 'Fear not, my wife, for I am no snake as you see me. Behold me as I am,' before somersaulting and transforming into a man!" The boy tossed the snake figure upwards into a flip before reaching over and retrieving a new puppet of a handsome young warrior, making the princess puppet gasp at the sight. "She saw the man, threw her arms around him and kissed him before saying, 'You will live many years, my king. I thought you would eat me!'" The boy pressed the two figures together showing their kiss, the young audience openly expressing their disgust by their twisted expressions.

The Minister rolled his eyes as the gypsy ended the tale with the princess looking more radiant than ever after she married the snake-turned- man. The children clapped and cheered for their storyteller as he bowed in youthful pride, thanking them for their presence. Seemingly out of nowhere, the boy presented a hand puppet that resembled a certain public official, complete with crooked nose, dark chaperon and red sash, and a menacing expression complimented with sharp, pointed teeth.

"Be safe, little ones," the boy warned. "And behave yourselves, or else the wicked Judge Frollo will come and snatch you up!" He growled humorously as waved the puppet around towards the children, who laughed and feigned screaming at the sight of the tiny judge before them.

From afar, Frollo's lips curled in indignation seeing that this young gypsy was brainwashing impressionable peasant children with such slander.

When the last of them had finally left, the Minister reared his steed up to the puppet master's caravan, who was carefully cleaning up and folding the flimsy backdrop into a nearby trunk. Frollo noticed the boy examine the puppet of him into his hand before chuckling to himself at the sight of it, never noticing its inspiration's slate colored eyes boring holes into the back of his skull.

"You there! Ignorant gypsy!" the judge called as he steered his horse closer towards the puppet stand.

The lanky gypsy boy looked on in disbelief at the imposing man. Suddenly he glanced at the caricature of him in puppet form on his right hand, quickly hiding it behind his back.

"What is your name?" the judge rumbled, his hardened expression never failing him.

The boy frowned and shifted his gaze to the ground. "Clopin," he answered reluctantly.

"How old are you?"

He sighed, "Eighteen, Minister."

"Tell me then, boy. What do you think you are doing?" Frollo narrowed his dark eyes at Clopin fiercely in case he might have forgotten the judge's authoritative stature.

Pursing his lips and keeping his eyes looking away, the boy replied, "Just putting on a show for the little ones."

"An interesting choice of appearance for that particular character that you are so "discreetly" attempting to hide from my knowledge."

Clopin raised the Frollo puppet and studied it again. "You have to admit, Your Honor: the resemblance is uncanny, is it not?" He smirked with great defiance, much to the Minister's chagrin.

Furrowing his brows at such smugness, Frollo spoke lowly as he tried to make this gypsy understand. "Should I see you using such defamatory characters again, the consequences that will follow will be _much_ more severe than a mere warning. Do I make myself clear?"

Clopin raised his eyebrows at the judge. "Have a heart, Minister!" he protested. "I am simply trying to make a decent earning through the use of my art!"

"_Art?_" the judge asked in disbelief. "I would hardly call what you do to earn your wages an "art"! Merely colorful misrepresentations of the more respectable characters of society! And if not that, then more of that gypsy drivel that you enjoy filling those children's heads with."

Clopin shrugged. "What you call 'misrepresentations' I call more accurate depictions of very _unsavory_ characters. And the others are just old gypsy folklore that we enjoy sharing!"

"Nothing but nonsense that promotes your heathen beliefs. A snake turned into a man and eloping with the king's daughter? Obviously metaphorical for the Devil ensnaring an unwitting woman of the court into his clutches. Witchcraft if I ever saw! And now you fill the minds of Lord's children with these notions, eager I'm sure for them to run off and align themselves with your wicked practices!" Frollo's grip on the horse's reins tightened with his scornful words.

"Well, Your Honor, doesn't your religion also believe that?" the boy argued. "I've heard your book also tells of a woman being persuaded by a snake. Perhaps we're not so different."

"Blasphemy!" Frollo bellowed angrily, hand on the hilt of the sword at his side and heart hammering in his chest. "I should strike you down for even _considering_ us similar! A ludicrous comparison!"

Clopin crossed his wiry arms cross his chest stubbornly and curled his lips at the judge. "Look Judge, there's no harm in just telling stories–fictional or not. Believe it or not, but my tales are actually quite popular among your fellow high-class citizens. They just plop their little ones in front of my shows and run off. I don't think they'd be too pleased if you did away with one of their children's favorite pastimes." Out of pure spite, raised his Frollo caricature and made it nod in agreement.

_Damn, he makes a fair point,_ the judge conceded internally. He rationalized the argument: should he do away with this ridiculous side-show, his fellow nobles would surely lose favor with him for getting rid of their children's entertainment. In his position, it would be most beneficial to _keep_ that favor and loyalty with those of the nobility.

_Dammit, dammit!_ He hated being bested by another–by a gypsy was unthinkable.

Huffing in defeat, Frollo dryly responded, "I will allow you to continue these foolish shows, _but_-" in a flash, Frollo whipped out his sword and swiped it clean over the man's hand, Clopin flinching instantly at the action. When the gypsy finally looked again at his hand puppet, its face of exaggerated features fell clean off its neck, nearly slicing the tips of his fingers off. "This one will _not_ do."

Clopin's eyes widened and jaw hung open at the Minister's actions, confused at what just happened. "I…I get the point, Minister," he stuttered out.

"Good," Frollo monotonously replied, sheathing the weapon back. "A lesson to be learned every day."

"_Clopin?"_ a small feminine voice piped up from behind causing the Minister to whip his attention around to see a short gypsy girl approaching and staring up at him.

Bright green eyes met the accusing granite ones of his own before looking around to the gypsy teen. "Clopin, what's going on?" she asked, carefully walking around the judge's black horse, who snorted maliciously at her, to join the boy at his side.

"Nothing, Esmeralda," the thin boy answered, protectively clutching her away from the Minister of Justice. Furrowing his brows at the stoic man, he continued, "Minister Frollo and I were just having a discussion about my puppet shows."

The girl, maybe no more than ten years old, gazed up distrustfully at Frollo and asked, "You were? Why?"

Her green eyed gaze unnerved the steady judge; something was…_off_ about this child, but he was unsure what.

"Oh, you know," Clopin said, his voice slightly quivering. "He just wants me to do away with them and resort to begging and starving to death!"

Esmeralda's expression shifted to one of anger and scorn. "You can't do that!" she naïvely protested to the judge who was obviously taken aback. "My brother works hard to feed our family! He loves his puppet shows and you can't take that away from him! Do you know how hard it is for gypsies?!"

Frollo blinked in astonishment at the girl's reprimand. Such powerful, impassioned words from such a young mind…it reminded him so much of himself for a moment.

Regaining his composure, Frollo replied, "Quite a tongue on this one, puppet-master. It would be wise to teach her how to _control_ it; such a trait could be prove to be a dangerous thing if used carelessly for the wrong reasons. Not to mention that eyes such as those could only mean that there is an evil lurking within her." In that moment, the judge and Esmeralda exchanged hateful looks, never hiding their disdain for one another. "Any way, young lady, the fact of the matter is that I had indeed permitted your brother to continue his "art," just so long as he discontinues the use of a _certain_ character.

The girl smirked up at him before pulling Clopin close to allow her to whisper something in his ear. Laughing, he replied, "Yep! The very one!"

Pursing his thin lips at their exchange, Frollo simply said, "Now that that matter is resolved, I _partially_ trust that there will be no more trouble expected from either of you?"

The gypsy duo looked at each other before looking back at Frollo and giving him shared wide but false smiles.

Nodding skeptically, Frollo steered his horse forward onto the rest of their route, hoping that he would never have to run into those two again.

X

How the day seemed to drag on without any reprieve, mercilessly dull to say the least. Frollo wondered for a moment if he should simply return to the Palace of Justice and see to the documents piling up on his desk. Shaking his head, he was about to steer his horse off back home until the sound of a skirmish nearby caught his attention, yanking the reins in its direction.

Frollo stopped the horse abruptly as he looked to a nearby alley where he now witnessed two of his soldiers kicking the life out of some poor gypsy man, bright colored clothes dirtied from being pummeled into the ground.

Lips turning into a sadistic smirk, Frollo suddenly called, "Does the punishment fit the crime, gentlemen?"

The metal-clad dolts gaped at the ominous judge and stood at attention, quickly explaining that the man had been scamming local peasants by posing as lame.

If he could, Frollo would have easily allowed them to carry on, no questions asked, but as Minister of Justice there was certain protocol to be followed.

"Have you any solid evidence to support this claim?" he asked reluctantly, inspecting the withered looking man, leg covered in dirty rags as bandages.

"Sir, we witnessed him with our own eyes standing up and walking about with ease after being given a few coins," one guard stated. "This man is obviously a charlatan!"

Climbing down from his horse and joining the two by their side, Frollo simply replied, "Then let us put it to the test."

Stepping closer, Frollo towered over the gypsy, still huddled on the ground, with a blank expression on his face. "Sit up!" he commanded the man, as though speaking to a loyal dog. The tired man dragged himself to sit up against the wall of the alley, glowering at the stoic Minister.

"Now tell me," Frollo said diplomatically. "Which leg is the one that ails you?"

Clearing his throat, the pallid man answered, "Umm…the left one, Your Honor." His dark eyes flickered nervously back and forth at the leg and up at the judge before him.

Frollo nodded without any change of expression. "Have you any feeling in that leg at all?"

Opening and closing his mouth, the gypsy answered, "No sir. An infection long ago cost me any feeling in it."

"So it never occurred to you to simply do away with it? Amputate it and be rid of such a burden?"

Suddenly the gypsy glanced back at the guards who eyed him cautiously as he seemed to keep from crumbling before the mighty judge. Avoiding those apathetic flint colored eyes, he quietly answered, "I suppose not."

"Now elaborate, please, on why my men claim that you are not as invalid as you would appear."

"Perhaps your men are not as honest as you would prefer!" the gypsy retorted in an acid tone, gnashing his teeth at the impassive Minister.

"I see," Frollo dryly said. Reaching over, he then withdrew his sword from his hilt, the gypsy's eyes widened to the size of saucers and the nearby soldiers grinning wide with their crooked smiles.

"If you are as impaired as you purport yourself to be, then I would not cause any pain if I were, to say, plunge this weapon into that leg that you claim can feel nothing?" Frollo stared icily at the trembling gypsy as he pulled his sword back to take aim, the doltish soldiers shouting encouragement for their superior to do it.

Suddenly in the blink of an eye, a flash of color sprung to its feet and darted down the alley, Frollo immediately ordering the two to seize him.

"Swindling gypsy!" the hot-tempered Minister called out in aggravation as he mounted the horse to follow the two.

_Infernal con-artists! All of them!_ Frollo internally ranted as he split off in another direction in an attempt to locate the man should he evade his men.

Head glancing back and forth like a meerkat, the judge suddenly caught sight of the gypsy sprinting down another nearby alley, lurching the black beast after him. Frollo wanted nothing more than to beat this wretch into the ground himself, half disappointed and relieved when a blur of silver tackled the fraudulent invalid to the ground.

"Minister! How would you prefer us to deal with this _waste of skin_?" one asked with the weary gypsy in his grasp.

"I believe that the prior handling of the situation seemed appropriate," he answered coolly. "If he has indeed devoted himself to portraying a cripple, then we should at least make sure it is the honest to God truth, should we not?"

With a dismissive wave of his hand, the brutes savagely pushed the gypsy to the ground, instantly resuming their earlier beating.

The bronze-skinned man coughed and wheezed furiously as the soldiers landed more kicks and blows to his already bruised body. Frollo all the while stood idly by, keenly observing the event he had ordered and smiling wolfishly at the display of his unbreakable power.

For a fleeting moment, the judge suddenly locked eyes with the man, his grin immediately disappearing. Suddenly it was as though Frollo could see all those before who had writhed and screamed in agony at his command. Those eyes felt so accusing, so familiar of someone else.

His taut frame felt as though it would crumble under the weight of confusion and sudden guilt as he watched his lackeys beat this man to a pulp.

_Do you know how hard it is for gypsies?!_ He heard the girl's voice echo in his head.

"_Stop!" _he boomed, raising a shaking hand. The guards looked dumbfounded at this change of heart. "I suppose he has learned the consequences of feigning injury," he quipped, eyes looking to his hands clenched tightly on the horse's reins.

"But sir," one of the big oafs piped up. "You told us-"

"I am well aware of what I commanded and now I am ordering you to _cease_!"

The two exchanged looks of bewilderment and nodded their heads obediently in understanding, disgust still evident as they glared down at the wounded gypsy.

"Now return to your posts immediately!" With that, the pair scrambled away, afraid to question the authoritative judge.

Despite the internal nagging to help, Frollo watched dolefully as the man struggled on trembling limbs to stand tall.

Frollo shook his head and turned back, eager to get away from whatever haunting sensation had come over him.

Before the gypsy could meet his eyes again, Frollo quickly turned away. "This was merely a one-time instance of mercy, so I intend you keep quiet about this and do not try your chances again, gypsy.

He quickly snapped the reins and the horse trotted off, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts clashing against each other, not knowing what to focus on.

_What happened?_ Why had he suddenly felt these feelings of…_what?_ Pity? Empathy? _Remorse?_

He had no idea where he was heading; all he wanted to do was carry on without feeling the long-forgotten emotion of guilt for his actions pressing down on him.

***A/n: Not dead! But I will be upfront about this: I **_**hate**_** this chapter. This is not my finest hour but I felt I needed to give something. I have a ongoing case of writer's block that is destroying me and at this point I'm not sure of where to go with the story. Right now this is all that I could conjure up so I hope you reading will understand. Maybe I'm too self-critical, I don't know.**

**I really wanted to throw in other HoND characters with this story to make it somewhat more familiar, and even then Esmeralda was just as outspoken as an kid. And we needed to see more of Frollo's anti-gypsy sentiment, whose roots apparently run deeper than he remembers.**

**Btw, that snake and princess story is a real gypsy story I found on sacred-texts.**

**Thanks to all everyone leaving reviews, it really does mean the world to me that you enjoy my work! :'D**


	15. Three Sheets to the Wind

The tavern was lit only by single fire from the hearth, the smoke easily choking those sitting too close. Red-faced patrons sat side-by-side on wooden benches at tables, drowning themselves in their beloved poison.

From afar Jehan could instantly recognize the familiar black and purple striped chaperon resting on the wooden counter at the end of the dimly lit building next to the stiff figure that was the Minister of Justice sitting down. He almost didn't recognize his brother not screaming at someone or poring over paperwork.

Striding forward, Jehan automatically pulled up a wooden stool next to his brother and suspiciously asked, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Collecting alms for the poor," Frollo snidely answered, taking a sip from the glass of wine in hand. "What do you _think_ I am doing here?"

"Fair enough," Jehan agreed. "Pint of mead here!"

The large burly man behind the counter grimaced distastefully at the young man. "You got the money to pay for it this time?"

Smirking, Jehan glanced at his brother beside him, who averted his own gaze by focusing on his wine before Jehan got any ideas of asking him to cover his drink. Disappointed in this, Jehan frowned at his brother before answering to the man, "Don't worry, I got it covered."

Jehan slurped down the freshly poured mead. "Never took you for a tavern man, Claude—I thought you preferred to drink alone. What happened? You drink the whole Palace of Justice dry?"

Frollo nudged his brother in the arm mid-drink, Jehan spilling some down his chin and tunic. "I simply needed something to drink and did not feel like wasting my time returning to the Palace and back to my rounds. Otherwise I would not dare step foot into a commonplace of such vulgarians. Now allow me to finish _in peace_." Frollo decided not to recount the sudden onset of guilt he felt watching his soldiers beat the life out of that gypsy. It was more relieving to simply dull the feeling with alcohol.

"Fat chance, brother—If you're going to get plastered tonight, I'm going to be right by your side!"

Frollo could feel the wine's power kicking in, causing the muscles in his shoulders to slump. "Despite the fact that you only seem to be interested in getting drunk as a lord, I somewhat appreciate the gesture," he sarcastically quipped.

Jehan blinked at him. "Well there's the expression "_S__ober as a judge_", which I guess in your situation means nothing. And I see you're still not the _fun_ drunk, are you?" he swiped before downing some of his own drink. "What bit you in the ass today?"

Giving a dry chuckle and glancing down at his wine, Frollo stoically answered, "Godforsaken gypsies, that's who. They are getting on my last nerve when it comes to staying in line—going about and disrupting the normal order of society. I had to confront one today who does these absurd puppet shows and attempts to pass it off as _entertainment_. I should put in a request to the Crown for the means to create an army, then I would have the ability to purge them from the city!"

Jehan could see the agitated expression on his brother's face, even as he gulped down the rest of the wine in his glass before reaching for the nearby bottle and refilling it. The young man could tell that his brother had been drinking for a while now.

Leaning forward, Jehan quietly asked, "Just out of curiosity, Claude…how long have you been here?"

Frollo's gaze wandered away to the dark timbered ceiling above in thought. "That depends…how far is the sun from setting?"

Jehan laughed violently, nearly spitting out his drink and slamming his hand against the countertop. "Did you forget that you have a son locked up that you need to visit? Have you gone to see the little monster _at all_ today?"

"This morning," Frollo deadpanned, staring pensively at the heavily scarred wooden countertop, his expression wan. "Trust me, he'll wait till the rapture for me if he needed to. I will return to see him _in due time_. Until then, I believe a drink is in place for my work." Again he took another long sip, Jehan downing his mead.

Suddenly a look of pain appeared on the judge's stone-like face.

"God, why did it have to be _me?_" Frollo sullenly grumbled, clenching his fists tightly. "Of all the twisted souls set on this green earth who are in _dire_ need of humiliation and punishment…it had to be _myself_ who was charged with caring for _him?_"

Jehan raised an eyebrow at Frollo, awkwardly taking a sip of his drink, blue eyes never leaving his brother.

"I have always done what the Lord has expected of me!" the Minister continued to lament. "I attend Mass, recite my prayers, rid the city of those who tarnish it with their malevolence and sin—all in His name—_and how am I rewarded?!_" Frollo's teeth gritted and breathing became strained as the heated words poured from his mouth. "By having to raise some crippled abomination! Bound to this Sisyphean task, and all because of some damn divine intervention!" The judge furiously slammed his fists against the hard surface before burying his face in his hands, all the while his brother watched with confusion.

Jehan nervously looked at the exasperated judge, unsure of how to handle such a situation. Usually when he was angry, Jehan could easily tune his brother's droning lectures out. A drunk Claude Frollo, however, was not something that he was entirely familiar with.

Pulling the wine bottle away from the judge, Jehan calmly said, "I think you're done drinking, Claude."

Frollo snapped his attention back at the blond boy with an enraged expression, startling him bit. "You don't have the _slightest_ idea of what I have been through, do you?" Frollo hissed, his silver eyes burning with drunken fire. "You have no problem wreaking havoc to your heart's content, never a thought for the consequences of such actions, or even its impact on _me!_"

Jehan glanced over his shoulder, somewhat thankful that the other tavern patrons were lost in their own intoxicated worlds and not listening to the nearby Minister of Justice's rant. Suddenly Jehan felt his brother's rigid fingers clasp around his thin arm, pulling him closer.

Jehan was taken aback by the psychotic look on Claude's face: his bared teeth and murderous scowl suddenly made the boy fear that his brother might be the Devil himself.

"Do you remember when you were five and you scaled up that oak tree?" Frollo breathed heavily. "Remember how you screamed for me to climb up there and rescue you? And when I finally reached the top…you were already on the ground, calling out for me to come down and follow you?"

The young man tried in vain to tear his brother's fingers from his arm. "Claude, be reasonable! I was only a child, and-"

"And when I tried to climb down I fell and damn near broke my neck!" Frollo tightened his grip on Jehan, certain that his arm would look like a bruised peach. "Remember how you laughed and clapped as I lay there on the ground? Blood pouring from my nose and my shoulder dislocated? But it was all in _good fun_, now wasn't it?!" Without warning, Frollo swung Jehan around and violently shoved him to the floor, mead soaking him all over and attracting the attention of a few other patrons. But the bloodthirsty face of the judge instantly reminded them not to intervene and go about their own business.

Jehan scrambled to his feet, wiping away the beer off his face. "So what then, Claude?" he asked bitterly as his brother slumped back down at the bar, blankly looking down at a stupefied Jehan. "You're just going to take out all your anger on me for the things I did as a child?"

Frollo turned away without another word, nervously running his fingers through his gray hair. Unsurprisingly, he reached for another helping of wine, all the while he trembled with drunken fury.

Shaking the beer out of his golden curls, Jehan sat back down and said, "I don't understand why you came here, Claude; you're even more of a bastard when you're sloshed to the gills!"

Sitting hunched over at the bar, Frollo barely glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. "Then enlighten me, little brother: why do _you_ feel the need to drink more than needed?"

The boy shrugged carelessly, smirking impishly. "It makes things more lively. At least when _I _drink, people enjoy themselves; you _aren't_ the fun kind of drunk. You're about as much fun drunk as a day of leeching!"

Frollo looked at his brother with tired eyes. Lowly, he then said, "For once, your half-witted drivel actually makes sense. I'm impressed, Jehan."

Taking a seat again, Jehan replied, "Thanks, brother. Now can we just have our drinks? And promise that you won't get violent anymore."

Frollo raised his eyebrows at him. "I'm afraid I cannot make that promise...and I'm not paying for you," he nonchalantly reminded him, pouring another glass.

"Well, you did give me the money, so technically you _are_ paying," Jehan rebutted, tossing his coin purse before him just to slight his brother.

Scoffing, Frollo replied, "Then at least control your intake. The last thing I need is you completely inebriated running amuck in the streets."

X

"What…what did you mean by "divine intervention"?" Jehan slurred after chugging down yet another pint of mead. After spending what seemed like an eternity rambling on about his misadventures with Robin Poussepain, the Minister hardly paying any attention at all, Jehan remembered his brother's earlier statement.

"_Divine intervention?_" Frollo himself, though not as loosened up as Jehan, could feel the alcohol's effects manifesting even more strongly with the time he had been lingering at this tavern. His head was already starting to feel heavy as the night went on.

"You…you told me that you got stuck with Quasimodo because of it, remember?" the younger one said, his face a bright red and eyes unfocused.

Numbed by the wine, Frollo fuzzily tried to think of an answer. Too intoxicated to recount the earlier discussion, the judge uncaringly shrugged.

Limply grabbing Claude's shoulder, Jehan garbled out, "You know, Claude, I've always wondered that. Why…how did you even end up with him anyway? I…I just never understood that."

The judge's drunken mind flashed back to that dreadful night when it happened, groaning irritably at the memories. In any state of mind, he would have been able to divert Jehan's attention away from the subject with another topic; however, alcohol proves to be the enemy of discretion.

"The only thing I was trying to accomplish was expelling those who trespassed against the law," his low voice rumbled. "One moment, I am about to dispose of the evidence from the incident, and in the next…I am being mandated to raise a miniature demon! _I_ was only doing what my duty commands of me: to keep Paris in order! But apparently requiring me to take the boy in as my own is a part of His plan." Smirking darkly, Frollo then laughed humorlessly, his brother trying to make sense of his words.

Jehan could not help but laugh as well, too drunk to even care if nothing was even funny. "What…what were you going to do, Claude? _Kill_ him? Were you going to _kill_ Quasimodo?" he slurred.

Suddenly, Frollo slammed his glass against the countertop harshly, Jehan jumping a bit at this. He menacingly hissed, "I _swear_ it was justified!" Maniac ferocity filled his eyes again as he continued. "And if I had done so, I could have gone the rest of my days without having to ask the Lord of whether this was the only way to atone for what happened!"

Jehan listened to his brother's words half-interested, considering he was too wrecked to care for what the judge was saying. That, and Claude's bouts of acrimony were taking some of the enjoyment out of drinking.

Doltishly smiling, Jehan heartily clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I don't know how you do it, Claude, but somehow you can do it!"

"Do what?" Frollo was prepared for more of Jehan's stupid, intoxicated questions, growing ever more annoyed as always.

"You have to take care of Quasi, and take care of the city—_it's a mess!_ But somehow, you can _always_ do it!"

Frollo's eyes widened at his brother's statement; convinced only by the fact that since he was drunk, Jehan's statement of reverence seemed genuine.

"Claude," Jehan said slowly, trying to sound sober and collected. "I don't know if I've ever told you this, but I admire what you do, and I'm proud to call you my brother!"

Even the drunken Minister could not help but smile a little at Jehan's sentiment. It wasn't every day that he heard such respect from his brother.

"And, Hell!" Jehan continued, raising his glass. "You're a great father too! We…we should go and see Quasimodo right now! Weren't you supposed to earlier?"

Frollo quickly looked behind him out through a grime covered window across the tavern, finding the city was already painted in darkness.

_How long have we been here?!_ He inwardly screamed as he shakily got to his feet, picking up his hat and squashing it flat against his head.

"How could I have forgotten?!" he questioned aloud in exasperation, fishing out money from the coinpurse at his side. "I have been idling about, drinking like some peasant with the likes of _you_ when I have tasks at hand!" Tossing the coins to the countertop and adjusting his hat, he unsteadily made his way towards the front door, knees almost buckling and drawing the attention of some nearby patrons.

"I'm right behind you, Claude!" Jehan slurred as he stumbled after the judge.

Frollo wobbled gracelessly out into the dark streets, Jehan in tow as the Minister of Justice headed towards the restless black horse stamping his hooves, relieved to see his returning master. While the judge untied the reins from the post, the horse whinnied reluctantly at the master's lax clasp, as though sensing that something was amiss.

"Claude, you're not going to actually attempt to ride that thing, are you?" Jehan asked, about to break out into a fit of laughter.

Leading the stubborn horse away from the tavern, Frollo leered at his brother. "What kind of fool do you take me for? Of course I'm not going to ride Romulus now!"

"Good. I know you can ride, Claude, but…who are we kidding? Even _you_ can't ride when you're drunk!"

Frollo scoffed and patted the nervous horse gently on the side before leading it down the cobblestone street with Jehan following.

"Wait, wait…where are we going again, Claude?" Jehan then asked, nearly tripping over himself.

"To Notre Dame, you twit!"

The young man limply took Frollo's arm. "Come on, brother! How about we take a trip to the Rue de Glatigny and see what lovely goddesses we can find tonight? I'm sure my Isabeau can find you a nice catch! _Carpe noctem!_"

"Why? So you can _humiliate_ me again?!" he snarled fervidly, hands tightening on the reins as he pulled Romulus down the street and pushing his brother away. "Not on your life! We are going to the church _now!_"

With his unsteady gait and unfocused eyes, Frollo easily resembled the many vagrants that he had arrested rather than his usual authoritative self, but it seemed that Jehan had more difficulty walking through the streets of Paris. Romulus nudged his head against his master's shoulder distrustfully, as though knowing that he was inebriated and out of his element. Although Frollo could hold his poison, it had been years since he had set foot in a seedy tavern to have a drink. At least when he drank himself sick, it was in the comfort of his own home, away from what might be _unwanted attention._

_Perhaps this was a mistake,_ he inwardly rationalized as he continued down the path towards the cathedral in the distance on unsteady legs, roughly pulling the reins of his horse.

"I swear, Jehan," the Minister drawled. "If you lead me to anything like a brothel…" Clumsily retrieving the knife at his side, Frollo pointed it at his brother threateningly. "I swear on all that is good, I will slit your throat without another thought!"

Putting up his hands in defense, Jehan smirked with drunken condescension at his brother. "Do…don't worry, Claude, I won't. You really need to relax, you know that?" he slurred. "I…I told you we were going to the church and…and that's where we're going! So come on!" Just then Jehan attempted to make haste, only succeeding in tripping over himself and tumbling forward onto the pavement.

Pulling Romulus past the scrambling young man, Frollo shook his head and remarked, "You see what drinking does to you, Jehan? You can barely even walk! Obviously you cannot handle in such copious amounts."

Finally standing up, Jehan waved his hand nonchalantly as he followed his brother. "Please, Claude. You're…you're just as drunk as me. That's why you can't even ride your own damn horse to the church!"

Harshly stopping in his tracks and swaying a bit, Frollo shot an icy glare at the young man. "I'm perfectly capable and I could if I wanted to, I…I just…" Turning his attention back down the street, he could see the towers of the imposing church in the distance, even standing out against the indigo colored night sky. "Church is that way. Follow me," Frollo slurred as staggered forward, lurching Romulus along.

The Minister barely registered the eyes of the few creatures of the night that loitered the streets, gambling, drinking, fighting, or paying for other _sinful _activities. _Vagrants, _he thought cynically as they studied him, confused at seeing such a man like the Minister of Justice wobbling about in the streets after dark.

It felt like it had taken a hundred years to reach the town square, the cathedral right across the way. Suddenly it seemed more gargantuan than usual—titan-esque and prepared to strike down any opposers. Frollo was momentarily left in awe as he took in such a sight in his intoxicated state.

Lazily patting Romulus on the shoulder, Frollo roughly pulled him through the square with Jehan following behind.

"Wait, wait, brother," Jehan mumbled. "Why did we come here again?"

"I am to see the hunchback…I must every day," Frollo replied and pointing upward, eyes directing towards the bell tower.

Jehan stopped for a moment and craned his neck back to stare up at the imposing structure, gaping spellbound at it. "Claude, Claude...when did they build this place?"

Ordinarily, Frollo could remember names and dates like a human record book. But right now he could not focus on anything else other than his drunken agenda.

"I don't know—I wasn't there!" he snapped bitterly, his horse throwing back his head in response of his master's outburst.

Reaching the steps, Jehan climbed them to the wooden doors while the Minister fumbled at trying to tie the Romulus to one of the posts nearby.

_Menial task,_ Frollo inwardly cursed as he struggled to properly secure the reins, Romulus nudging him in the shoulder with his snout. _This is for uneducated plebs, not myself._

He barely heard Jehan's weak attempts to push the doors open. Turning around, Frollo smirked as he saw his little brother run and slam his shoulder against the heavy door, hoping it would miraculously open. Knees buckling and gripping his shoulder, Jehan looked up at his brother. "I don't think anyone's home, Claude," he drawled as he struggled to regain his balance.

The Minister himself tried to push the door open before slamming his fists against it. "Of course somebody's here—you can't leave a church unattended, you dolt! Some…someone will answer it." Frollo leaned heavily against one of the doors, trying to collect himself.

"What's the Archdeacon going to say when he sees that you're completely sloshed?" Jehan teased.

Sloppily adjusting his skewed hat and trying to keep his expression stern, Frollo replied, "I'm completely fine. I'm not the one falling over himself like the drunken fool he is!"

Jehan gave a crooked smile, as though proud of such an accusation. Suddenly the sound of one of the doors creaking open roused both of their attentions.

Through the crack open, the Archdeacon's wary face peeked out before opening the door to fully face the Minister of Justice.

"Frollo? What are you doing here at this late hour?" he asked harshly and accusingly.

Roughly pushing past the man and staggering unbecomingly into the nave, Frollo answered, "I am here to see the boy." Jehan wobbled forth after him, stupidly looking around the dim interior. Father Augustin's mouth hung agape in shock at the brothers' behaviors.

"Have you two been drinking all night?!" Augustin whispered loudly to prevent their conversation from echoing.

"Just a little," Jehan piped up, swaying back and forth before leaning against his brother.

Augustin narrowed his tired eyes at Frollo who tried to appear sober, shoving Jehan away from him. Of all the mistakes he had known the judge to have made, this was by far the most senseless.

"Claude, what on earth would possess you to do something so asinine? Quasimodo inquired your whereabouts today and I figured that you might have been stuck with more work at the Palace of Justice—not out doing something so immature!"

The Minister scoffed. "Compose yourself, old man. I'm here now, am I not?"

Running a tense hand over his face in annoyance, the Archdeacon glared at the drunken Minister. "I cannot believe you. Leave now and return to the Palace of Justice!"

Frollo's expression turned into an intense scowl at such a challenge. "Am I or I am _not _the hunchback's guardian? Did you not entrust _me_ to keep the boy as my own?! All you have done is badger me over how to raise him _when I should not have to!_"

The Archdeacon and Jehan looked alarmed at Frollo's sudden change in attitude, unsure of where he was headed in this exchange.

"I refuse to have you guiding me like some ignorant child!" he growled, face showing the same rabid ferocity as earlier. "Since you think me inadequate of caring for him myself, allow me to remedy that."

Frollo suddenly reached again for his dagger, the other men's eyes widening instantly. Turning quickly on his heels, the judge heavily strode forward in the direction of the stairwell.

_I am going to finish what I started,_ he thought maliciously, eyes locked on the stairs as he felt his being shaking with bloodlust. How many times he had imagined life without being bound to the child, he had lost track. All Frollo wanted to do was end it... once and for all.

Without warning, he felt a pair of hands tightly grip his arm, instantly fighting to push them away, not caring who he injured as he flailed the weapon around carelessly.

"Unhand me at once!" he snarled when he felt his other arm be restrained.

"Claude, you're not well!" Augustin protested as Frollo attempted to break free of their grasp, fighting with every bit of energy he had.

"I'm going to do what I should have done that night!" he thundered, hoping that the dagger's blade would find its way to one of the two.

"Calm down, Claude!" Jehan pleaded as his brother violently tried to push him away.

"Go to hell, Jehan!" Frollo's eyes were fire and brimstone as he shoved him hard with his elbow.

Jehan then released him before narrowing his half-unfocused eyes at him. "Sorry about this, Claude."

In that instant, the enraged Minister turned to see his brother raise his fist before feeling a quick blow the side of his head, his vision then turning black.

***A/n: It's been awhile, hasn't it? Writer's block is the worst and it literally took me over a month to finally write this chapter. I thank my readers for their support and understanding over the last chapter, which probably wasn't my best. **

**I'm sure after this, Frollo is going to have a pretty bad day and never want to drink with Jehan again. Frollo and alcohol don't exactly mix, huh?**

**Well, let me know what you think! **

**P.s. you should read "Alabaster and Creme" by GoneVintage! And Happy Halloween y'all!**


	16. The Morning After

_Ding…Dong…Ding…Dong…_

The sound echoed mercilessly at three different intervals. Why would they not just stop their accursed ringing? If that were not enough, soon afterward, the sound of _booms_ resonated through the aching head of the Minister, who tried desperately in vain to block them out.

_What Hell is this?…Have I perished and gone to Hell? _Frollo hazily concluded as he tried to ignore these unpleasant sounds. _What have I done to deserve this punishment?_

Flashes of a dark place and numerous bottles played in his head, instantly disregarding them.

He pleaded internally that the world would just stop its dreadful racket and leave him in peace, or better yet, for the pounding in his head to disappear and let him disappear into nothingness—anything to eliminate these torturous sounds.

Immediately after the _booms_ had stopped, Frollo suddenly felt a slight tug at his hair, followed by an ear-splitting crack as he felt a hand fly hard across his face—the sound deafening and pain itself excruciating. After falling back against the pillowy chaperon that lay under his head, it was like being smashed in the head with a rock for the poor Minister. Why could they have not just put the judge out of his suffering, he wondered miserably as the pain resonated throughout his skull.

The groan of pain he emitted only made it worse, his hands clutching to the sides of his head as the pulsating sound of his blood roared in his ears.

"_Rise and shine, Minister!"_ an irritatingly upbeat and taunting voice boomed, the sound unwelcoming to the aching judge.

Straining his eyes to open, Frollo almost immediately closed them after being blinded by the sliver of light that made its way through the small square, iron-barred window above. Focusing, he made out the blurry figure of Jehan standing above him wearing one of his expensive and colorful outfits complete with feathered pointed cap, as cheerful and alive as ever…not the least bit afflicted in comparison to his brother.

Frollo realized how much his back hurt as he noticed that he had spent the night on the cold stone floor. Angered by such an unwanted awakening, Frollo's first instinct was to kick his brother hard in the leg, Jehan hissing and damning him in response.

"Come on, Claude," Jehan encouraged. "It's morning and you need to get up! I tried to be polite and knocked, but you wouldn't answer."

_This boy is the absolute bane of my existence…_Jehan's voice did nothing to ease the Minister's headache as the latter tried not to groan when he attempted to sit up, his head instantly spinning. Frollo propped himself on one elbow and quickly clutched the bridge of his nose, trying to collect himself.

_Dear Lord, what kind of idiocy did I indulge in?_ Frollo thought. Rubbing his tired, red eyes he could feel sweat pouring from his forehead before realizing the dryness of his throat.

Suddenly he heard Jehan cackle mercilessly, doubling over. "God, I wish you could see yourself right now—you look _terrible!_"

_No thanks to you,_ Frollo inwardly cursed as his dark eyes scanned around the small cell in which he resided before they fell on a nearby pail with a wooden ladle inside. Pulling himself forward on shaking arms, he immediately dragged the water bucket towards himself and eagerly drank, quenching his excessive thirst.

Legs shaking, Frollo uneasily rose to his feet, hands steadying him against the stone wall. His neck was stiff and head throbbed even harder as he stood up, wanting to collapse right then and there and surrender to sweet slumber. He glanced at his brother, who shook his head in sadistic amusement as he watched his brother gracelessly try to appear as his usual self; to see the Minister of Justice in such a pathetic state was truly a sight to behold!

"Where…where am I?" Frollo croaked out, his own voice loud in his ears.

"Well," Jehan started. "After you took a little dive, the Archdeacon and I just threw you in one of the old cells in the back of the church. Sorry for having to lay one on you but you were going insane and I had to, Claude."

Frollo could hardly recall what occurred last night; judging by the bruise forming on the side of his head, there was no doubt that his brother had incapacitated him in the former's drunken rage before anything _regrettable_ could be carried out.

"What happened…" he began, his chest tightening by the second. "Last night?" His low voice was slightly scratched as he spoke.

Jehan shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. "We drank, we came here, you went berserk, and now you're here."

Despite not being in the right state of mind, Frollo could instantly tell that his brother was withholding details. Straightening up a bit, he narrowed his dark-circled eyes at the young man and said, "What _else_ happened, Jehan? Tell me at once."

Sighing and darting his cerulean eyes towards the floor, Jehan looked back at his brother and answered in a hushed tone, "You were going to kill Quasimodo."

Frollo's brows furrowed at the statement, his heart getting caught in his throat at the notion of such a thing. Suddenly the Minister's stomach lurched unpleasantly, darting for some nearby bucket and heaving the remnants of last night's revelry into it. His brother curled his lip at the sight while the Minister coughed roughly as he examined the contents, his face deathly pale. Wiping his mouth, he muttered roughly, "What do you mean?" before turning his attention to a nearby basin (no doubt left there at the Archdeacon's insistence) and splashing his face with the cold water.

Jehan explained, "A lot of it is kind of fuzzy, but I remember you screaming something like you "shouldn't have to take care of him" and you were "going to do what you should have done" and all that. I don't know, Claude, you need to talk to him."

Frollo sighed ruefully at the thought of having to explain himself, both to Augustin and Quasimodo. Rubbing the back of his sore neck, he couldn't help but wonder aloud, "How on earth are you not crippled by the weight of drink?" he asked Jehan bitterly. "You had just as much as me —if not more!"

Jehan grinned smugly at the judge. "Please, I've been drinking like that since I was thirteen—I don't suffer from the aftermath anymore!"

Frollo almost wanted to laugh at the recollection of seeing his young teenage brother fighting in the streets with other students, completely wrecked and stupefied from a mere bottle of wine. However, all he felt at the moment was utter self-loathing at his foolishness, his throat still burning from the bile he retched, and more nausea lingering in the pit of his stomach.

"Well," Jehan suddenly piped, clapping his hands together and sending another splitting pain through the Minister's head. "I should be off, brother. Don't forget to talk to Augustin and Quasi, and hope the day isn't too demanding!" With a sharp laugh, Jehan spun on his heels and left his brother in the eerie, yet welcoming, solitude of his cell.

God, he did not want to go out there and face the consequences of his actions; he had a history of not exactly making the most prudent decisions when intoxicated already. He could still remember his mother's scolding the first time he had returned home after a night of excess as a young man. Had the sagacious judge learned nothing?

Exhaling deeply and dusting his hat off, Frollo exited the small cell and reluctantly made way in search of the Archdeacon.

X

Quietly rapping at the wooden door, Frollo was greeted with the Archdeacon's voice beckoning him to enter his study. Inside, he found Augustin scribbling down some notes on parchment before turning his eyes upward to meet those of the judge.

"Good morning, Minister," he greeted lightly, noting the dark circles under Frollo's still-red eyes. "I trust that you acquired _some_ rest?"

Striding forward, Frollo cut straight to the point. "What sort of chaos transpired last night? Why the need for Jehan's little _intervention_?" he asked demandingly, jaw set in determination.

Augustin simply looked pitifully at the Minister, folding his hands before him wordlessly.

Met with such silence, Frollo continued. "By his account, I quote, tried to "kill" Quasimodo. Care to elaborate?"

"You and your brother arrived at the church in the dead of night demanding that you see Quasimodo. I ordered you to return to the Palace of Justice, given that you were not in the correct state of mind, but you became furious, Claude. The next thing I knew, you were wielding a dagger threatening to _murder_ the boy!" Father Augustin was finding it rather difficult to hide his anger at the judge. "Jehan used violent means to hinder your actions, which I must admit was a crude yet effective way to keep you from carrying out such a deed!"

Frollo averted his gaze away towards the nearby bookshelf, taking a moment for such knowledge to soak in. Had he really attempted to murder his adopted son out of his own drunken stupidity? True, he was never exactly keen on the idea of providing the father-role to the boy, but hating such a position so much it would drive him to kill? It simply seemed too out of character for such a man of discipline and reason like Claude Frollo.

"It was _Jehan's_ fault, not mine!" he suddenly protested. "Had he just left me alone, then I would not have carried on as I did and none of this would have occurred! He was the one who influenced me to partake in excessing myself through drink; therefore, _he_ is to blame."

"You cannot honestly blame your brother for what you did," Augustin retaliated, running his hands over his face in exasperation. "You could have possessed the willpower to resist overindulging, but you did not, Minister. You must take responsibility for you own misdeeds!"

Frollo shut his eyes tight and shakily let out a breath, resting one arm upon one of the nearby shelves. "Say it then."

"What, Claude?"

Frollo gritted his teeth. "That I made a grievous error in judgment; that I endangered the boy's life; that I am unfit to carry out my duty as Minister—every criticism that you wish to deride me with!"

The man could think of a hundred things to use as factors for damnation, but what good would come from that? Augustin sighed. "Claude, I have been trying to help you for years now, you never heeding my advice. At such a point, I can only pray that you make the proper decisions. And judging by your current state, I think that you have suffered enough for your actions. However, I believe that you owe poor Quasimodo an apology for neglecting to see him yesterday. I just hope that the boy did not hear your rant last night, lest he might become more intimidated by the world than he is already."

"I suppose so," the judge replied regretfully. "Then in that case, I should be going. And may this occurrence _never_ be spoken of again." Frollo hastily retreated from the study before he could witness the look of disappointment etched on the Archdeacon's face.

The throbbing in his skull was ebbing away slowly, however, it returned with a terrible dizziness as Frollo made his way up the winding staircase, trying not to lose any more of his stomach's contents today and soldiered forward. The cold air tightening his lungs mixed with lingering nausea made him wish that he could just return to the Palace of Justice and sleep off the rest of the pain…_or drop dead._ Up and up he ventured from the stone steps to the creaky wooden ones, the stuffy air of the bell tower filling his nostrils, before a familiar voice pierced his eardrums.

"Master!" he heard Quasimodo's small voice cry as he enthusiastically lumbered forward with a crooked smile on his innocent face.

"Quasimodo, please lower your voice," Frollo greeted, trying not to sound too irritated as he rubbed his temple trying to alleviate the returning pain.

Resting on one of the nearby wooden stools, Frollo held the bridge of his nose again trying to stifle the headache. Quasimodo looked on at his master in confusion, who sat with slumped shoulders, not bothering to glance at the boy.

"Master, are you alright?" he asked curiously, uneven teal eyes studying the tired expression worn by his caregiver.

"Yes, I'm fine," Frollo lowly snapped, inwardly thanking the Lord that the boy did not witness him at his weakest earlier that morning.

"You didn't come yesterday. Father Augustin said you were sick."

"That's a _polite_ term for it," he commented under his breath. Frollo tried to collect himself back to his usual demeanor. "Forgive me, my boy, but I am in the worst state possible at the moment."

The judge's words only confused the child. "I thought you weren't going to come back, Master," Quasimodo confessed, looking at the Minister in almost fear.

The weary Minister raised his eyebrows at such a statement. "Is that so?" he asked nonchalantly.

Quasimodo nodded as he stepped closer to his master. "You told me that no one else will like me because of how I look, and I was scared I was gonna be alone." With that, Frollo could see tears escaping from his eyes and down his misshapen face and simply gaped at the child.

For a moment the judge forgot about the dull throbbing in his head as he was somewhat surprised by such words from a child. True, Frollo always assured that he was Quasimodo's only ally in the world, but he never quite given any thought to how much he must _truly_ matter to the boy.

However, soon the shock dissipated as a wicked thought came over the judge. If the boy was this distraught at the notion that without his guardian, he would truly be alone…then there was really no reason to worry of some future act of rebellion against his master. No chance of ever repeating the incident on the day of the Feast of Fools, for now the boy realized how devoid his existence might be without the Minister of Justice to protect him.

A sly smirk etching on his face, Frollo then said, "You needn't worry, my boy. I swear that should I not show up to visit, it will be for a good reason. But you understand that occasionally my work requires more of my time and I might not be able to visit as often, correct?" Quasimodo nodding in agreement.

"Then you must trust that I will try and visit here as soon as I can afterwards," he stated smoothly, stern expression softening with feigned sincerity. How comforting it was to know how much loyalty Quasimodo exhibited at such a young age…_Like a dog and his master,_ Frollo thought cruelly.

"But enough of that," the judge suddenly said. "Tell me, my lad, have you eaten at all today?"

"Father Augustin brought me breakfast, Master," the boy smiled. "I know you were too sick."

"Very well then. If that is true, then I suppose I should be on my way while the day is still young." Frollo stood up and smoothed out his black robe, when a question popped into his head. "Quasimodo, did you happen to hear anything…_unusual_ at all last night?" He unknowingly held his breath at the image of Quasimodo seeing his guardian acting like a drunken vagrant, his chest tightening anxiously once again.

The small hunchback rocked back on his heels, eyes travelling to the rafters above in thought. Shaking his head, he answered, "No, Master."

Nodding and exhaling in relief, Frollo quickly and stoically replied, "Good. Not that there was anything of interest, I suppose." He could only imagine Jehan stumbling around the nave, howling with laughter at his brother's expense.

Now that that was cleared up, the judge decided that there was no reason to worry about the events that took place. With a small pat on the boy's red-haired head, Frollo inwardly thanked God that he had enough work to make him forget the previous evening.

Stepping outside, Romulus showed hesitance upon his master's appearance, remembering how he handled the horse with less ease on their way to the church last night.

Frollo chuckled and said, "Don't worry, old man, I've learned my lesson and don't intend to repeat that mistake again," before lifting himself up onto the obsidian steed.

The sun was bright behind clouds and the brisk late winter air blew as the Minister rode through the city. The sun was less harsh now, thankfully, than upon first awakening. Though no one eyed him suspiciously or with reprehension, he inwardly prayed that it would remain that way and there would be no unflattering gossip about last night. Passing by merchants and peddlers, fishers and beggars, mothers and children, Frollo could not help but feel nervous that somebody could have picked up any rumor about the tavern scene last night.

_Calm yourself, _Frollo reminded himself, eyes shifting left and right. _You needn't worry about a thing…no one will dare speak a word of this._

Halfway through his journey back to the Palace of Justice, a boisterous and jovial voice called, "Minister Frollo! La Falourdel's, remember!"

Blood running cold and pulling the reins to a harsh stop, the judge turned his head in the direction of the voice. A large round man, red in the face and brown tunic covered in grime unsteadily walked towards the direction of the Minister, who was now dismounting the horse, jaw tightening.

Pointing a plump finger at the judge, the man greeted him, "I recall seeing you there last night! You and your brother—the devil—you two raised quite a bit of hell!"

The de facto law was that whatever business occurs in a tavern remains so there, not to be aired out to the public. This spoken word agreement, however, seemed to have escaped this misguided soul.

Striding towards the ignorantly laughing buffoon, Frollo gripped the man by his shoulder and pulled him close so that his words might not be heard by any passersby. Fingers digging into the man's thick arm, Frollo spoke in a low voice, "I believe you have me mistaken for someone else."

Mouth agape for a brief moment, the man replied, "No, I know for a fact it was _you_, Minister, and that brother of yours last night about to tear the whole goddamn place up!"

Eyes quickly glancing over his shoulder and around, Frollo tried again. "I _assure_ you, that it was _not_ myself that you witnessed at whatever degenerate hole that you wallow about in." The judge's dark eyes cast a dangerous presence, warning the man to heed his statement.

"But…I could have sworn that-"

"It would be in your best interests that you promptly forget whatever false images you might have deluded yourself with in such a state. For such a statement made public would be met with _dire_ consequences. Do I make myself clear?"

Foggy eyes darting around trying to make sense of the judge's words, the man instinctively nodded in understanding.

Releasing his boney fingers from the man's flesh, Frollo mounted his horse again, steering back to his destination.

_Witless simpleton,_ he grumbled internally and shaking his head in annoyance.

_Never again, Jehan,_ he thought ruefully as Romulus marched down the cobblestone streets, the Palace of Justice on his sights.

Only did the sight of dozens of legal documents awaiting him on his desk did the Minister finally feel the uneasiness ebb away.

***A/n: It's been a while but a lot of shit came up and got distracted. So hoping that this chapter is satisfactory. I've had serious writer's block and am not sure where the story should go from here.**

**You never want an ass like Jehan waking you up after a night of drinking, not cool, man. Would love to hear what you guys think. Here's to Malakaii for her story "Renascence" having a string a great chapters and for her kind words!**


	17. The Wicked Shall Not Go Unpunished

**Five years later…**

Old wooden steps creaking beneath him, Frollo listened attentively to the chatter that escaped the bell tower loft above, raising a brow inquisitively of who could possibly be in the company of his adopted son—the church's own bell-ringer was mostly unseen and reclusive anyway. The voice certainly did not belong to the boy, who continued to talk to his stone "friends" even at nine years of age.

"Alright, you rolled a _main_, so that means you win that one—_you nicked it!_" The Minister gritted his teeth at the conclusion of who it was. Reaching the top of the stairs, Frollo found his brother kneeling across from Quasimodo, Jehan tossing a pair of dice to the center.

"And what do you think you are doing?" Frollo's voice rumbled suddenly, the boys' attentions jerking around to the approaching judge, gray eyes dark and foreboding and hand tightening on the wicker handle of the basket. Jehan rose to his feet and tried to appear casual and innocent, Quasimodo, in contrast, shrunk in fear, shifting his eyes to the dusty wooden floor. Dark obsidian robes cascaded around the judge and sent the warning of impending danger throughout the young hunchback.

Stepping forward slowly, Frollo kneeled down and grabbed the two bone dice from the floor. "Why do you have _these?_" He accusingly questioned, holding the dice before Jehan. Smirking lopsidedly, the young man looked at his older brother nonchalantly and uncaringly. Frollo turned his attention to the taciturn hunchback, now standing nervously with his pudgy hands folded and averting looking at his ominous master.

"Quasimodo," Frollo ordered. "For what purpose could you possibly have for possessing _gambling equipment?_"

"Je…Jehan was showing me a dice game, Master," Quasimodo answered shakily. "It's called _Hazard_. I didn't think—well, Jehan said that—you…wouldn't mind." His teal eyes moved endlessly around, avoiding eye contact with the Minister, his hands fidgeting anxiously.

Leering at his brother, Frollo then said, "_Gambling?_ You are trying to educate him in the field of needlessly burning through one's allowance, Joannes?"

Scoffing at his brother's use of his real name, Jehan replied, "Don't fret; it's an innocent little dice game—there is nothing wrong with that."

"'_Nothing wrong with that'_?" The Minister repeated in agitated disbelief. "With the sort of luck that you possess, you are better off teaching bird the Nicene Creed! Besides, I have seen what transpires when you lose—you resort to unethical methods of _cheating!_"

"Think of gambling as a life skill, Claude: it's an easy way to earn a meal!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the judge quickly retorted, "Money is the root of all evil, Jehan. I would greatly appreciate it if you would not breed such heedlessness into Quasimodo."

The scowl he exhibited towards his brother was not new, just darker as the years had gone by. The past five years had done a number on the Minster with the harrowing amount of stress he was constantly under. The circles under his eyes were much darker; the lines in his face had become more visible and embedded; even his hair had begun to thin—his gray locks now shorter.

Jehan looked back at Quasimodo standing idly by listening to the brothers' conversation. "See, Quasi? If anything is the least bit of fun, you can bet that my "sanctimonious" brother will find a way to destroy it in the blink of an eye!"

Sighing in indignation, Frollo glared at Jehan fiercely. "For your information, it just so happens that today I had to _correct_ a man who was found exercising crooked gambling methods. Quasimodo, would you like to know of what becomes of those who follow my brother's example when it comes to these "harmless" games?"

Before the boy could even think of a response, Frollo sat down at the small wooden table, setting down the basket of food and began to recount the events…

X

In the last few years, Judge Frollo had been patrolling the Paris streets less and less given that he now spent more time presiding over his judicial matters in a courtroom. Now he was out on patrol only a few days a week; however, the days had become so mundane that he prayed ardently that he would find more unwitting gypsies to send to the bowels of the Palace of Justice for interrogation. Unfortunately for him, it seemed as though they had gone_ underground_ recently.

Dismounting his horse and leading the steed to a nearby watering trough, Frollo scanned the area of bustling peasants pushing and pulling carts, nothing out of the ordinary. Patting Romulus on the side while he drank, the judge sighed at the lack of action. He should have felt accomplished that there was no widespread trouble afflicting his city, but punishing the ilk of society filled him with a sense of self-importance. Without such, he did not want to focus more of his energy on curbing his brother and ward. At this rate, _any_ crime to rear its ugly head would be far preferable to that.

"Come now," he muttered to his horse, leading the reins away. Perhaps there would be a new stack of documents awaiting him in his study, he imagined boredly.

"_Come, come! Try your luck! See if you can find which cup hides the pea!"_

Turning his head, Frollo was drawn to the source of such a boisterous and jocular voice. Slinking around the corner of a nearby building with his horse in tow and his hat's red sash swishing behind, Frollo narrowed his eyes at a scraggly-looking gypsy man behind a rotten old wooden crate, before him three wooden cups and a couple of unwitting patrons. The judge's crooked nose cast a shadow as he tried to be discreet, Romulus snorting behind him, antsy to return to their rounds.

He had seen many panhandlers entertain and gamble with the citizens through this seemingly innocent game, but the sight of a gypsy conducting it instantly raised his suspicion, eyeing the man warily.

The first round of the game was how they reeled in their victim, providing the player with a false sense of mastery of the game by allowing them to win the first one. The second round, the gypsy sped up as he shuffled the cups in circles, before asking his customer under which cup the pea lay. Of course the fool would see he chose the right cup again, which would allow the gypsy to make his final offer.

"Double or nothing, sir, for a third round?" the swindler asked, coaxing his patron into setting his coin purse down in confidence, prepared to take his winnings. The observant Minister of Justice did not believe for a second that such an offer could be legitimate from the likes of gypsy. That didn't stop the game from beginning the last round.

_Continuing to fool the good people out of their hard-earned wages…Fraudulent gypsy, _Frollo thought acrimoniously, ignoring his horse nudging his shoulder.

As if on cue, Frollo instantly caught sight of the split second sleight of hand: a slight lift of the cup, and the gypsy man hid the pea under his hand. Frollo smirked knowingly, seeing that he had finally caught his prey in the act. Ceasing the shuffling, the gypsy waved a hand over the wooden cups and asked, "Which one, sir?" With his unknowing customer's guess, the gypsy slyly revealed to him the absence of the pea, happily taking the man's coin purse in victory.

After the departure of the oblivious robbed man, Frollo emerged from his hiding place pulling his horse along and eyes narrowing at the schemer who giddily counted the coins in his hand.

"The nerve of your kind—deceiving the hardworking man through rigged games to earn a living—is absolutely despicable!" Frollo's commanding voice shook the surprised gypsy, who instantly stuffed his earnings back into the pouch. "I have tried to eliminate the sin of gambling in this city to little avail; if it weren't enough that such activity carries on anyway, you people have the audacity to exacerbate such a vice!"

The gypsy put his hands up and painted a cool façade. "Your Honor, if you will, this harmless little game of cups and peas is _nothing_ compared to the games of fixed dice and false cards that people bet their lives on—_your_ people! They are the real culprits that you should be punishing!" he protested.

"Do not distort the truth!" Frollo fervently retaliated, taking another step closer and staring menacingly at his prey. "I have seen you with my own eyes as you con the ignorant with your underhanded gypsy guile. I have just about reached my capacity of tolerance with allowing your kin to abuse the empathy of law-abiding citizens."

"'_Tolerance_'?" The gypsy repeated almost laughing, baffled at the Minister's word choice. "Is that what you call it? My people are starving and have to resort to street tricks to feed ourselves—all the while avoiding being arrested by your men—and you call that "tolerance"?!"

"_Minister Frollo!"_ The clanking sound of tin footsteps rushing down the cobblestone streets drew as two soldiers rushed forward to their commander.

"Is there a problem, sir?" one asked, both at attention.

"As a matter of fact, there is," Frollo darkly replied, eyes still locked on the gypsy before him. "It would seem that our cunning friend here must be _educated_ on the subject of crime and punishment. Lock him up." With that, the two quickly seized the bewildered gypsy, shackling him tight while he writhed in protest.

"Take him to the Palace of Justice," Frollo ordered, mounting Romulus once again. "We shall see how far my patience can stretch…"

X

"Has it been properly adjusted yet?" Frollo's arms were crossed with impatience as he waited for the demonstration to begin.

Himself and another guard giving the levers one last pull, the scraggly dungeon keeper answered, "Ready on your command, Minister."

"Excellent." Lips turning up into a grim smile, Frollo then called out, "Bring him forward!"

Two soldiers pushed and shoved the gypsy through the wooden doors down into the half-lit dungeon. The man's eyes widened at the sight in the middle of the floor: a wooden frame about nine feet long, rollers at the ends with two knotted ropes each, four handles on the sides centered on the outside of the frame, brownish red splatters staining the structure, the frame itself made up of three large spiked wooden rollers…

_The rack…_A rather tame method of torture perfected by the English and approved by Louis XI for the Minister of Justice's use as means of administering "justice" and extracting truth.

"Tie him in," the judge said nonchalantly, placing his hands behind his back and schooling his expression.

The gypsy, stunned by the sight, did not notice as Frollo's guards roughly pulled him down to the wooden frame, fastening his chafed wrists and ankles. He winced as the spikes dug savagely into his back.

"This is all for a _little street game?!_" The gypsy burst out in astonishment, voice quivering in fear as the judge stepped forward, looking down at him maliciously and dangerously.

"As I have stated before," Frollo began coolly. "The city has allowed you and countless others of your kind continue your dishonest methods of gambling; therefore, one must demonstrate the consequences for these activities, no matter how _extreme_ it may seem. I will not allow my city to fall victim to more gypsy schemes."

The gypsy shook his head in terror and disbelief. "You're _mad! _Stark raving mad!"

"Am I?" Frollo taunted monotonously, a slight smirk cracking. "I think this will prove to be quite effective. You, and so many others, will learn something from this experience…and perhaps so will I."

The gypsy man shot the Minister a confused expression, not understanding his implication. "What are you talking about?"

Steepling his fingers before him, Frollo answered, "Think for a moment, gypsy: I can have my men rip your limbs from their sockets and let you watch yourself perish, or…you can reveal to me the location of your fabled Court of Miracles and spare yourself such trauma."

Frollo's soldiers nodded and whispered in reverence of the Minister of Justice's cunning. Jaw tightening, the gypsy furrowed his black eyebrows at Frollo, defiantly answering, "Never!"

Glaring at such impertinence, the judge replied, "I see. If that is the decision you make…" With that said, he nodded to each soldier at a lever, the rack creaking as it began to pull.

The gypsy groaned in pain as his thin limbs began to stretch and the spikes scratched against his form, huffing and puffing in agony while the Minister looked on expressionless.

"All of this can end if you would only reveal to us the location of your humble abode," Frollo reminded, the gypsy's eyes darting to him before shutting and resumed screaming. "Very well," said Frollo. "Tighter," the guards obeying and pulling the levers harder.

"Your people will understand the ramifications for their illegal activities, even I must annihilate each and every one of you slowly and _painfully_," Frollo droned as his prisoner screamed at the top of his lungs, joints beginning to pop and ligaments tearing.

Such inhumanity was so ingrained in the Minister's mind that it was second nature to him. For years, he had had criminals hanged, suspended in cages, locked in pillories, and ripped apart on the very rack. In retrospect, it was nothing in comparison to the punishments he witnessed growing up as exercised by his own father: thumbscrews, quartering, the iron maiden, the boot, the Catherine wheel, stake burnings…_If the punishment fits the crime._ Unlike his father, Frollo's power did not thrive on bloodthirsty sadism, just a skewed moral compass that gave him a sense of justice instead of funding numerous torture methods for thrill.

"Tighter," his voice resounded as he ordered his men, who gave the levers one last pull.

_SNAP! SNAP!_

Without warning, copious amounts blood splattered through the air, staining the stone walls and the armor of the guards. The limbs flopped down against the wooden bed, the gypsy crying out in tormenting pain as his severed arms and legs spewed thick crimson blood.

No one uttered a word; the only sound filling the grim atmosphere were piercing cries of pain and alarm, the prisoner's limbless still convulsing violently.

"Finish him off," Frollo said, waving his hand and turning to leave. As ordered, one guard approached the dismembered gypsy on the wooden bed and lifted the poniard from his belt, lifting the weapon to his throat. Instantly, the dungeon no longer echoed the bloodcurdling wails, but a quick choking gurgling before dead silence filled the air.

"How unfortunate," Frollo commented unemotionally, grasping the dungeon door handle. "At least there will be more opportunities in the future to uncover the truth. Clean this up!" The Minister strode forward exiting, slamming the heavy door behind him as he ascended back up the ground floor of the Palace of Justice.

X

As the judge sipped from his silver goblet, Jehan and Quasimodo simply gaped at him in shock as they sat across from him, taking in the weight of his story. Setting it down on the beaten wooden table, Frollo directed his attention to his young ward, "The moral of the story, Quasimodo, is that _gambling,_" throwing an accusing glance at his brother. "Only leads to a life of misfortune and consequence, as I am certain Jehan here is to demonstrate when his ways finally catch up with him."

Jehan crossed his arms at his brother's slight. "I appreciate your "faith and confidence" over my abilities, but I will be just fine."

Quasimodo looked at the judge with hesitance, slightly more frightened of his capability as the images formed in his impressionable mind. "So…we _shouldn't_ play Hazard, Master?"

"If you want to live the rest of your days as a penniless gamester—forever a slave to rigged card and dice games that he cannot win, and burning through his allowance in the most wasteful manner possible…then by all means, become living copy of Jehan." Frollo's words were laced with so much contempt and venom, that Quasimodo dared not speak anymore as the brothers exchanged hateful stares, each challenging the other to say something.

Jehan shook his head with a laugh. "You worry too much."

"Believe me, with your recklessness, do not be surprised if one day _you_ end up in shackles, awaiting trial."

Hoisting himself up, Jehan simply said, "Fine, Claude. I won't teach Quasi anymore of these games. In fact, I think I might just head over to my usual stomping grounds today for some fun myself. Maybe a round or two of Merelles, some vachettes—I might even get some good cards at tonight's game! Maybe afterwards, I'll pay a visit to Isabeau or Ambroise—_or both!_" His brother's face sneered at his innuendo in front of the hunchback child. "After all, I've practically lived on that street since I was sixteen, so good day to the both of you!" Jehan spun on his heels and began to stroll out of the bell tower with a bounce in his step after having just made a mockery of his brother, the Minister.

Frollo's gaze wandered to the wooden table, suddenly noticing a sloppily carved inscription: ANAΓKH.

"Jehan!" Frollo called, the young man reluctantly stopping and turning around to meet his brother's gaze. "Why have you vandalized the table?"

Jehan shrugged. "I was showing Quasi some basic Greek."

"It means "_Fate_"!" Quasimodo piped up excitedly, smiling contently in his newfound knowledge.

Turning to Quasimodo, Frollo readily stated, "Do not believe everything Jehan tells you, Quasimodo, for _he_ is not your instructor." Directing his attention back to an impatient Jehan, he said, "You should brush up on your Greek; it means "necessity." You should have studied more." Frollo smirked at his brother's arrogant mistake, the latter rolling his cerulean eyes.

"It's no skin off my back," Jehan quipped, hands on his hips. "Now if you excuse me, I think I'm due for a little _ménage à trois_ with the goddesses of Rue Glatigny!"

The Minister shot his brother a threatening look before he marched down the bell tower steps.

Quasimodo, finally finding his voice after the brothers' heated exchange, suddenly asked, "What's a "ménage à trois," Master?"

Pale cheeks reddening slightly, Frollo hesitantly answered, "Just another wicked act that sinners like my brother indulge in—but never repeat that phrase again!"

Quasimodo flinched before nodding obediently. Frollo rubbed his temple before saying, "Remember Quasimodo, the wicked shall not go unpunished."

***A/n: Has it been three months already? Sorry! One day you decide you're gonna step away from the story to refresh the mind, the next you're going on a spiritual journey-no, I don't mean drugs.**

**Here's to all my fellow writers who are busy with school, work, family, etc. And to all who keep following and favoriting!**

**Got the idea for this after going to a local torture exhibit, it just took a LONG while to write. I got references all over this place, like the ANArKH from the book; "the wicked shall not..." from the musical, you know how it goes. Merelles and vachettes are just old dice game****s referenced in the book, the details are pretty unclear, but Hazard was a real one! Just saying, I've read that "fate" in Greek is closer to "Moirai."**

**Btw, if you check out my dA, hope you enjoy my rendering of Jehan in Disney form! (I'm better with a pencil and paper). And check out "Manual Stigmata" by bluekitten1979, it's pretty intense! Anything you wanna see, just shoot and I'll see what I can do!**


	18. A Lost Cause

"Aside from Jude the Apostle, we may also pray to Saint Gregory the Miracle Worker." The Minister of Justice and Quasimodo had finished their dinner and the boy had questioned his foster father about the Apostles of the Bible, whose answer became more complex than originally desired as he droned on about sainthood. "Both are the patron saints of lost and impossible causes."

"_Good! You're still here!"_ The all too familiar jovial voice called as he ascended the wooden steps of the bell tower.

"Speaking of which," Frollo muttered irritatedly, turning his attention to his brother reluctantly. "I have already provided you with your allowance this morning; surely you could not have spent every penny in a mere few hours?"

Jehan shrugged his thin shoulders, indifference in his expression while his brother exhaled in disappointment, the negative atmosphere discerned by Quasimodo who sat quietly waiting for the brothers' exchange to finish. Though Frollo never lost his temper around his ward, he was certainly more intimidating when Jehan managed to get under his skin for one thing or another.

"Well I am not giving you anymore," the Minister sternly said, hoping to dissuade the younger from pushing his luck, balling his right hand into a fist. "You know the saying: the borrower becomes the lender's slave."

Snorting at that, Jehan threw his hands up in defeat. "Claude, don't be so stingy!" Frollo cast him a dark look, trying to remain stone-like in his brother's pleas. "Fine. If you refuse to give me money, then I'll find my own way of doing so. However, since I don't possess a trade of any kind, I guess I'll just have to get it through other means. Maybe I'll just join up with the vagabonds…_the gypsies._"

"Like Hell you will!" Frollo exclaimed with indignation, rising from his seat. "I would sooner have your head served on a platter to Herod and Salome before you even _consider_ aligning yourself with such filth!" Muscles stiffening beneath his robe, Quasimodo momentarily believed that the judge would lunge at his brother right then and there for such a comment. How Jehan was able to speak to the Minister of Justice like this and get away with it was truly astonishing.

Grinning and placing his hands on his hips, Jehan decided to bait his brother further. "Well, what would you suggest I do to earn some money,_ Your Honor?_"

Given the lateness of the day, Frollo decided the last thing he wanted to do was spend an eternity arguing in circles with Jehan over the perpetual topic of money. The tale as old as time continued as he retrieved the coin purse from his pocket and tossed it to his degenerate younger brother, who smiled greedily as thanks.

Sitting back down, Frollo rested his forehead upon his hand, trying to forget his brother's threat of turning nomad. The very notion of it was absolutely outrageous to him: to sully the family name for good by joining up with those he condemned as godless street urchins was something he would not stand for.

There was that word again: _Gypsies._ Quasimodo had heard his master throughout the years cursing this group under his breath. Frollo had pointed them out in the square a few times as they danced, sang, ate fire, performed palmistry, and whatever else the judge viewed as heathen revelry. Their high spirit and colorful uniquity enchanted the hunchbacked boy's imagination, who watched them with great fascination from the heights of the cathedral with the wind blowing through his red locks. Their clothes of bright blue, green, orange, magenta and everything in between stuck out from the crowds and pavement of grays and browns. There was something so magical about their ways.

Knowing the great contempt that his guardian held for them, however, prevented him from inquiring as to why he despised them so. But with Jehan's comment and Frollo's reaction to such, Quasimodo felt that he just had to ask.

"What happens if Jehan does run off with the…with the_ gypsies_, Master?" His sudden question roused the judge from mulling over his own thoughts. Furrowing his brows, his flint gray eyes looked to the small moon that began peering from behind the night clouds outside, collecting himself.

"Should he ever have the audacity to shun what little teachings that he has retained from his upbringing in favor of their wayward practices…then Jehan would truly be lost." The last part of his answer, Frollo spoke with a trace of melancholy in a hushed voice, eyes downcast upon the small wooden table. Raising his gaze, his cold eyes locked with the innocent blue ones of Quasimodo.

"The gypsies…" he began, his voice regaining its normal vehemence. "Ensnare the common man's childlike captivation, seducing him to do away with his God-given morality in favor of their indecent practices. Instead of making their way as the rest of us do, they prefer to bounce from one location to another, distracting the weak-minded while robbing them at the same time. It is enough of a task that I must try to keep my brother on the path of righteousness, but for him to think of joining them to coast through life…I simply cannot allow it. Do you understand, my boy? I would rather have an irresponsible brother who could still be redeemed in the eyes of God, than have the last trace of our blood gone to become a follower of their vile traditions."

Quasimodo was taken aback by his guardian's words. Frollo hardly every evidenced such love and devotion to his younger brother, even if it was not completely unconditional. Nevertheless, his repulsion for the gypsies was fueled by his love for his brother, as far as the boy could see. No matter how cold and distant Frollo made himself to appear, at least there was some sort of loyalty to another, Jehan.

"But…but they can't be all bad…could they?" Quasimodo asked, remembering their liveliness and colorfulness as they performed in the square for passersby for what little coins they were rewarded before being chased off by local guards.

"Do not be fooled, Quasimodo," Frollo quickly answered. "One gypsy is the same as any other, all with the ultimate goal sapping the good citizens of what little they have—either of coin, or their virtue. In fact, had it not been for some gypsy witch, then perhaps my brother would not have been cursed into leading the life he does."

"A _witch?_"

"Indeed. A sorceress who used her cunning to deceive me as a young man, acting as though she adored Jehan, all the while I had no idea that she had placed a hex upon him that would shape him into the man he has always been." Frollo recalled how in his youth, he allowed but one gypsy to hold his precious infant brother. All of the misfortune and woe that followed in the years afterward could only be attributed to the power of witchcraft—certainly not by his parenting.

"I was fortunate enough that she did not carry off with him into the night, as her kind has been said to do," he continued. "They are wicked to the core and do not forget that."

Quasimodo looked at his master with slight apprehensiveness, pondering over those motley performers and what kind of malice they could possess, as Frollo professed. He drummed his stubby fingers against the table before asking, "Was…Jehan always like this, Master?"

His voice plaintive and expression stoic, Frollo answered, "I am afraid so. Misbehavior and Jehan go together as naturally as the moon and stars. Whether I was pulling him off some other child before he could rip out their hair, or paying off his tab at one tavern or another. It seems that no matter what, he has no regard to doing anything other than causing trouble and a life of leisure. Although I pray that he will learn maturity and give up his recklessness, and maybe then he can be saved. Recall the parable of the Prodigal Son: even those who have strayed far from the path can still repent and receive salvation."

Questions brewed inside Quasimodo's head as Frollo's words sunk in. "Can gypsies be saved?" Quasimodo was careful with his words, even though his inquiry was sure to awaken Frollo's vicious sentiment.

Frollo was very taken aback by the question. "Well…the Bible teaches that all those who believe can be, but a group so consumed by heathenry and black magic is _beyond_ any sort of salvation and redemption. Which is why we must quell their very existence, before they can bring any further harm to the good souls of Paris."

"But Master, they don't look like they're doing anything…_wrong_. If Jehan can be saved, then—"

"_He_ is not some infernal gypsy who wanders about trying to entice others with witchcraft and the arts of Hell!" Frollo raised his voice in protest as he defended his profligate brother, his eyes full of fire, but steeling himself from a complete outburst. Seeing Quasimodo shrink back at his feverish response, Frollo breathed and collected himself before saying, "Jehan may be far from a saint, but he has thus far kept from doing anything completely unforgivable, such as his proposal to turn vagabond. One day he will grow up and take responsibility for both his life _and_ his soul, lest he desires not to see the Pearly Gates in the end."

Such a fit of temper was not something that Quasimodo was used to, leaving him uneasy of his master's temperament and slightly afraid. Frollo could see the anxious look on his ward's face and thought it best not to frighten him any further. "Forgive me for raising my voice, Quasimodo," he said composedly. "But…my brother's soul is something that I worry about constantly. I couldn't bear it if he, or even _you_, fell victim to the gypsies' bewitchment."

Despite the one wart covering his left one, Quasimodo's eyes shone with understanding and adoration for his master, for his dedication for both him and Jehan was without a doubt genuine. "I won't, Master. I promise that I'll never trust a gypsy."

With that said, Frollo rose from his seat, dusting off and smoothing out his black robe. "Very good. Now then," he spoke, his tone softer. "I believe it has grown quite late and the both of us should be retiring for the night." Quasimodo nodded in agreement, lifting himself from his seat and lumbering to his make-shift bed area while his master discarded the used dishware.

Quasimodo sat up while his master knelt down to eye level. They crossed themselves in unison and folded their hands before Frollo's low voice incanted the nightly prayer: "_Ángele Dei, qui custos es mei, me tibi ommíssum pietáte supérna, illúmina, custódi, rege et gubérna._ Amen."

Making the sign of the cross over themselves again, Frollo stood up and bid his ward good night, lightly patting the boy on his protruding hunch before picking up his hat and turning to leave. Covering himself with the threadbare blanket, Quasimodo suddenly said, "I…I'm sorry about…Jehan, Master."

For a fleeting moment, there was a sadness appearing on the judge's face. Restoring his usual countenance, Frollo quietly replied, "As am I." He proceeded to march down the bell tower steps with a sort of languidness that was quite unlike him.

X

As Romulus trotted through the dark sleeping city, Frollo could not stop thinking about his brother…_and the gypsies._ Would he really threaten to join up with them now every time the Minister refused to provide him with money to spend on further degeneracy? He couldn't decide which was worse: being the source of Jehan's overindulgence, or allowing him to associate himself with the bane of the Minister's existence to fund such activities himself. Frollo gritted his teeth at his moral dilemma, sickened by both scenarios. He found small comfort in the idea that all in all, Quasimodo would never be allowed to live like Jehan.

Shaking himself from these troubling thoughts, Frollo noted the decreased number of loiterers, thanks to his increased number of night guards. He noted that seldom ever did he or his men encounter gypsies after dark. Retreated back to their fabled haven, the Court of Miracles, no doubt. A spark of anger flared up in the judge as he remembered twisting that gypsy apart to extract the knowledge of its location, such an attempt all in vain.

_How difficult must it be to find such a place?_ After almost a decade of this Herculean pursuit, he had _nothing _to show for it, his hands tightening on the reins at the thought. Were all of them really so prepared to die by his hand for the sake of their kin's place of refuge?

_No matter how many of them must perish…_The judge's train of thought was suddenly halted as he heard the nearby sound of…_singing._ Sweet notes fell softly on his ears, leaving him momentarily winded. Without realizing it, some great force overcame him as he steered his horse to follow the hypnotic tune. Ordinarily, he would have simply ignored it and moved on...but not tonight.

He followed the music to a nearby tavern whose faded old wooden sign hanging above the door once depicted a red bull, announcing itself as La Tête du Taureau_._ Peering into the grimy window, Frollo could see the whole place alive with peasants…_and gypsies._ He saw them gathered around with their exotic instruments: a large drum beaten on rhythmically; a couple of large, gourd shaped stringed instruments with short necks; a small pear-shaped one resting on one man's knee and played with a bow. In the center of these performers, he listened as a tall gypsy woman crooned the enchanting lyrics in some foreign tongue while the tavern patrons drank and laughed…

"_Ándro birtho zhas,_

"_Thai mol piyas._

"_Amáre lové das,_

"_Thai mol piyas…"_

The Minister found himself frozen in place as he listened, entranced by the strange and romantic tune, mouth stupidly agape. He suddenly forgot of the venomous words he had pronounced to his adopted son condemning them only minutes ago, for even he could not peel himself away from its melodious spell.

"_Come keep me warm until morning…"_

Frollo closed his eyes as the music filled him with a sense of peace..._longing_..._misery_. His chest tightened painfully from the onslaught of emotion. For an instant, it was as though everything ceased to exist, as though he lingered in this moment for an eternity, blissfully listening to such sweet harmony.

"_Minister!"_ Shaken, Frollo felt himself being brought back to reality as he whipped around to a night guard riding down the street towards him, armor clanking loudly.

"What is it?!" The Minister heatedly snarled, trying to regain his composure. He realized that he had been idling in the same shadowy spot for some time, listening to the gypsies' music, Romulus growing impatient.

"Sir, we've received reports of a gypsy thief in a brothel on Rue de la Harpe."

"I see. Lead the way then, Lieutenant." Snaps of the reins and the two men sped off on their horses, leaving behind the mesmerizing music and into the night.

It wasn't long before the men reached the brothel, littered with drunk men, stumbling in and out. Making a sound of disgust, Frollo leered at this establishment of unbridled licentiousness and wantonness. Had the Church not viewed prostitution as a necessary evil to prevent any "unnatural" forms of lust, he would have it snuffed out completely and destroy every whorehouse in Paris.

"Gypsy thieves, you said?" Frollo asked, examining the place of ill repute.

"Yes, sir. A gypsy stealing from patrons during, umm…_transactions_."

"Typical," the judge muttered under his breath. "Let us go and investigate the matter." Dismounting their horses, Frollo and his lieutenant tied them to the posts outside before entering the building. The Minister cringed at the sight of so many promiscuous women discussing deals with these depraved men. It wasn't long before a finely-dressed older woman adorned with a pearl necklace descended the staircase, stopping before the Minister of Justice and his guard.

Her eyes falling on the austere Minister, she shot him a puzzled expression. "Minister Frollo? I must say that I'm surprised to see a man of your esteem here…although I cannot say the same for your brother."

Brushing the comment aside and schooling his expression, Frollo stiffly replied, "I am only here on official matters."

"Of course. Well, whatever the reason, welcome to Le Lys Rouge."

The inside of Le Lys Rouge was well lit and adorned in red, from the scarlet drapes hung along the grand staircase and the tapestries on its walls. Filling the ground floor were numerous dirty tables cramped with male customers and their female company upon their laps and drinking away. Frollo watched with revulsion when he glanced to the second floor and witnessed men and their escorts filing in an out of the rooms.

"I have heard that there is a gypsy prowler stripping your patrons of their wages," Frollo stated, getting straight to the point, hands behind his back. "Is this true?"

"There is a prowler, Your Honor, but I did _not_ say it was a gypsy," the Madame answered. "Perhaps someone suggested it could have been, but the gypsies who come through are customers just as any other man who enters my establishment."

"One cannot be too trusting with their kind. Your greed prevents you from seeing them for the thieving dogs that they truly are; no doubt it has occurred before on these premises. It would be wise to bar them from your establishment to prevent any further thefts."

The Madame remained unmoved by the Minister's utterance of scorn. "How I run my business is of my own accord. Anyone willing to pay is welcome."

Frowning at such impertinence, Frollo saw that he was getting nowhere with this hardened woman. "Then just lead us to whomever claims that there is a thief."

The Madame eyed him warily. "Upstairs. Red-head, Carla. She'll tell you everything."

Giving a curt nod, Frollo motioned for his lieutenant to follow him up the stairs, brushing past idling courtesans. As the Minister and his guard made their way down the dimly-lit second floor scanning about for this so-called Carla, the libidinous atmosphere made Frollo's skin crawl. After all, he had never been a fan of places like Le Lys Rouge.

After a long silence, his soldier finally spoke. "Sir, what if this thief _isn't_ a gypsy as we thought?"

Looking over his shoulder, Frollo sternly answered, "As with all law-breakers, whoever we find to be pilfering customers shall be brought to justice and handled accordingly."

Frollo was suddenly stopped by a round, bald man who grabbed his shoulder. "Judge Frollo! You must help! I have been robbed, I fear by the gypsy in that room!" He pointed a fat finger to one door a couple ones down from where they stood. "And it's not just me! Others claim that they've been pickpocketed tonight as well. Arrest him!"

Brushing the dirt of his shoulder, Frollo nodded, replying, "Worry not, for the man responsible will indeed be punished." Turning his attention back ahead, Frollo stopped as the indicated door unexpectedly swung open, a satiated gypsy man striding out and smoothing out his time-worn blue tunic.

"Seize him!" Frollo instinctively ordered.

Attention snapping towards the Minister and his lackey, the gypsy man did not have time to react, instantly finding himself pinned to the ground. The commotion was quick to grab the attention of every other man and harlot ambling about the corridor.

"Another gypsy plunderer," Frollo taunted as his lieutenant continued to smother their culprit.

"What are you talking about?!" The dark-skinned man bellowed, snorting roughly against the dirty wooden floor as the guard held him tight.

"Oh please, don't play coy. It would make this less painful if you do not. And though I may not be entirely fond of these establishments, the law stands and _theft _is_ theft_."

"I haven't stolen anything!" His rebuttal earned a swift pull of the hair and face slammed to the ground, yelping painfully in response.

Folding his arms and looking down with antipathy, Frollo continued chide the gypsy. "Is it purely coincidental that when there is a report of thievery, a _gypsy_ just so happens to be soliciting at the very establishment?"

The man's eyes burned with hatred as they locked with the Minister's. Ignoring him, Frollo simply looked to his guard and ordered, "Lock him up." He instantly found himself in shackles, muttering curses as a small line of blood streamed down the side of his face.

Patrons who loitered in the long corridor or who came to watch the spectacle laughed and cheered at the Minister's execution of justice. Smiling to himself as he watched his lieutenant land a hard blow to the gypsy man's gut, Frollo then felt a tap on his shoulder, turning around to find a pale red-haired woman standing behind him.

Cocking an eyebrow at her, he said, "I assume you are Carla. Can I help you?"

Crossing her thin arms, she said, "Minster Frollo, I know that you can't resist booking gypsies on a regular basis, but…that's _not_ the one we caught stealing."

"Excuse me?"

"No, let's just say that I've _detained_ our little thief down the hall." Looking past him, she directed her attention to judge's guard holding the gypsy in place. "Lieutenant Laurent," she greeted flirtatiously, fingers waggling towards him. Frollo rolled his eyes as his lieutenant looked away awkwardly to avoid meeting his superior's gaze.

Frollo studied the gypsy in chains, his ears heating up in slight embarrassment before speaking to her again. "Well, if you have done so, then take us to him."

Giving a small chuckle of condescension, Carla's fingers motioned for the judge to follow her to the far end of the hallway, Frollo motioning his guard to stay put and keep watch over their captive.

Hand on the door handle, the young courtesan looked back at the Minister of Justice, who waited impatiently behind. "I'm sorry that you have to see this, Your Honor, but it's just business." Frollo raised an eyebrow in confusion, hesitant of what she was going to show him.

With a fluid motion of her arm, the young woman swung the door open, Frollo's eyes widening before quickly covering them in exasperation and humiliation. The only thing he could utter was a horrified, "Oh, good lord!"

"_Heh heh...__Evening, Claude."_

In an almost mocking voice, the young woman remarked, "I believe _this_ is yours," her eyes shifting to the center of the room in annoyance as she leaned against the door frame.

Lowering his hand from his eyes, Frollo grimaced heavily as he set his gaze on a most unpleasant sight: Jehan, naked from the waist up, bound by the wrists by an old scarf and tied to one of the bedposts above his curly blond head, smiling nervously at his guests.

Mortified, Frollo sighed in great displeasure before harshly asking the young woman, "What in the world is _this?_"

"As I told you, Minister: the thief that you're looking for _isn't_ a gypsy. Your bastard brother couldn't pay up—kept saying that he'd come back and pay later. Our policy is _cash upfront_—no exceptions. After I told him, I saw him lifting some money off the other customers before trying again!"

Glowering fiercely at his brother, who tried to shake his bounds loose to no avail, Frollo then asked him in disbelief, "Please tell me that she is not serious. What did you do with the money that I gave you earlier?!"

Letting out a small shaky laugh, Jehan answered his brother coolly, "Well, when you hear the dice games calling, you answer them, even if the odds aren't always in your favor…four games in a row."

"So you thought it best to refund yourself by _robbing_ other men?" Frollo crossed his arms sternly, his eyes piercing with scorn.

"_I needed to, Claude!_ What would _you_ have done? Look, just pay her for me, would you?" Jehan tugged on the scarf around his wrists harder, frustrated by the skill with which they were tied.

Frollo glanced back at the silent courtesan still leaning against the door frame, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Well, Minister?" Carla deadpanned. "How will you be paying?"

With a quick look back at his pathetic brother, he asked, "Just to be clear, what would become of him if I decided _against_ compensating for his requested services?"

_"Claude!"_ Jehan exclaimed surprised, blue eyes widening in fear of being abandoned by his brother.

"We'd just throw him down in the cellar and kick him out in the morning," Carla explained plainly. "But he will be banned from Le Lys Rouge."

"Carla, you wouldn't ban _me_, would you?" Jehan adorned his most charming smile hoping to persuade the woman who remained unmoved.

Rolling his eyes, Frollo reached under his robe to retrieve the spare coin purse he kept for whenever Jehan took the first. "Here," pushing the money into the woman's hands, Frollo strode forward, pulling the dagger hidden in his sleeve. Swiftly and smoothly, he cut the scarf binding the young man's wrists before picking up the discarded tunic and tossing it back in Jehan's face.

"We are leaving now," he said hotly, not looking at his embarrassment of a brother. Looking back at the stunned young woman, Frollo spoke in a dangerously low voice, "_This_ never happened," her nodding in understanding. Exiting the room, he tried to collect himself as he waited in the hallway, livid anger building up inside him. When Jehan emerged with his haphazardly dressed clothes on, Frollo took hold of his arm and roughly pulled him along.

Unable to break from the judge's vice-like grip, Jehan decided just to vex him out of spite. "So what's next, Claude? You going to throw me in the dungeon again? This was a one-time situation—I swear it will not happen again!"

Ignoring him, Frollo brushed past the onlookers before stopping before his lieutenant, still holding the anxious gypsy. "Take this gypsy back to the Palace of Justice; I will deal with his situation tomorrow."

The soldier looked at the clumsily dressed Jehan and back at the injured gypsy, stammering out, "But-but, sir…if this man wasn't stealing…You-you said that all lawbreakers—"

"Follow your orders, _Lieutenant_, and I will deal with _this one_ as I shall." His hold on his brother's arm tightened at his indication.

The man looked at his commander in disbelief before escorting the gypsy in chains down the stairs and out of the brothel. Frollo continued to pull Jehan out of the building, not once casting a glance at him and neither of them speaking. Once outside, the judge pulled his brother aside, slamming him against the wall of the building.

"Why is that your rapaciousness must follow me everywhere like a stray?!" Frollo's eyes burned with fury and his fingers dug into Jehan's shoulders mercilessly. "Why is it that the concept of prudence is one that is eternally lost on you?!"

Jehan barely managed to push his seething brother away, shoving him back and rubbing at his shoulder. "Calm down, _Minister_, it's not like I murdered anyone or anything. Lucky thing you showed up too—who knows what would have happened?"

"Listen to me," Frollo said severely, pointing a finger at the young man. "Legally I should be stowing you away in the pits of the Palace and setting up your trial. You were fortunate enough that there is someone else to take the blame for this incident, but heed my words, Jehan: There will come a day where your actions will cause irreversible damage, and I will not be there to clean up your mess. At almost twenty-five years, one would think that you would've learned that already! Do you understand?"

"I see. So…would you rather I turn gypsy to do what I want, or let things remain as they are?" Jehan smirked triumphantly, thinking he might bested the Minister of Justice into giving in.

Frollo looked at him as the moonlight shone brightly on his brother's smug features. In a grim voice he replied, "Then I imagine that you would rather try to join a group who would sooner slit your throat, than try to keep the debauchery to a minimum so that I may retain my position and continue to provide you such funds. Take your pick."

Jehan scratched his head, eyes wandering around the dark streets, unable to think of a rebuttal. "Fine," he conceded reluctantly. "I'll try not to embarrass you _too much_. And look on the bright side, Claude: you picked up some more gypsy trash, _and_ saved your baby brother, so a job well done!" Jehan stretched his arms outwards, jokingly calling for Frollo to engage in a brotherly embrace.

Shooting him a bitter expression and scoffing, Frollo monotonously said to him, "Good night, Jehan. But remember what I have told you. What goes around, comes around." Frollo left his brother as he made his way back to the front of Le Lys Rouge, untying and mounting his horse to set off for home.

With his brother still in ear-shot, Jehan shouted, "My soul will be just fine!" as the Minister rode off.

Inwardly, Frollo prayed, _One__ can only hope..._

***A/n: I realized that I need my writing to be livelier so here's this. Frollo cares too much about his brother, tbh, even in the book. I like this chapter a lot better than the last one too.**

**I remember how lazy I was with my last fic, so the instruments played were typical medieval ones: lute, oud, Byzantine lyra. ****The lyrics come from the song "Thai Mol Piyas" off the HoND musical soundtrack, which is the Paper Mill version cause I swear I don't remember that version of it from La Jolla Playhouse. But apparently the song is from an old Romani song, which roughly translates to wanting to drink wine and what not. And I basically saw the brothel like the Rosa in Fiore from Assassin's Creed Brotherhood.**

**I also found out that Rue de la Harpe, where Jehan lives, is the street that inspired Sweeney Todd, so...pretty cool. And the pearl necklace is just some dumb wordplay, if you know the meaning.**

**Read and review!**


	19. Just Another Day at Work

_Two cases of thievery near Port Saint-Denis; one fief dispute on Rue de Vaugirard; one drunken disturbance of the peace; taxes to be collected on Rue Pavée…_Frollo mechanically went over the amount of work that awaited him once he would return to the Palace of Justice, but first thing on the agenda was to bring today's breakfast to Quasimodo. Despite such mundane work to be done, the judge found more peace of mind: in the last few days he had eliminated a growing threat of gypsies throughout the city—through _incredibly_ violent means—and Jehan seemed to have made himself scarce (even though in the back of his mind, Frollo knew that was not a promising sign.) As long as there was order in his life for the time being, that was enough to keep the rigid Minister content.

"Quasimodo?" his voice resonated as he called climbing the wooden steps to his ward's loft, prepared to hear the boy's voice happily greet him. Glancing around, the judge called again, hearing nothing in return. He rolled his eyes at the thought that Quasimodo might be attempting to coax him into finding him hidden amongst the broken statues again, even though he loathed such a juvenile sport.

Annoyed, Frollo was tempted to simply leave if the boy was going to insist on playing this game. _I cannot very well let him starve, can I? _He reminded himself, setting the old wicker basket of food down on the wooden table. Turning around to check the boy's sleeping area, which was found to be empty, Frollo then heard a scratching sound coming from up above in the rafters, drawing his attention immediately. Though it was not uncommon to find mice and rats dwelling in the nooks and crannies of the bell tower, this sound was far too loud to be of that of common vermin, stirring his curiosity. His eyes quickly scanned around the rest of the boy's loft, not finding any trace of him.

Climbing warily up the next set of steps, up where the famous bells resided, the judge could hear more creaking and shuffling from above, as if something _larger_ was creating such a ruckus. If Quasimodo was not in his sleeping area, or in the rest of the loft…Suddenly, suspicion overcame him as he anxiously imagined what could be making such noise.

"Quasimodo! Come out here _immediately!_" Eyes scanning up and down, back and forth, Frollo finally spotted a small misshapen figure dash across one of the rafters before leaping forward and grabbing hold of a rope, zipping down to ground level before the Minister of Justice.

Quasimodo's old brown tunic was covered in dust and dirt, his red hair sticking out every which-way, and his small blistered hands clasped nervously before him. Uneven eyes barely glancing at his guardian standing before him, whose own ominous ones glared grimly at the boy. "Good…good morning, Master," Quasimodo greeted timidly.

Frollo was still utterly baffled by what he had just seen, but schooled his face into his usual stoic countenance. "Quasimodo," he addressed, looking down his hooked nose at the boy. "What on earth do you think you were doing up there? Is _this_ how you've been spending your days—scaling the rafters and God-knows what else like some common squirrel?" His tone did not possess accusation or frustration, but rather concern, all the while keeping his placid demeanor. Frollo held the boy's face in his hands, studying him closely but cautiously. "God help us all if this is the work of the Devil—you aren't possessed, are you, boy?"

"No, Master, I'm not! I-I'm sorry!" Quasimodo pleaded when Frollo released him, his small hands folded together tightly and prayer-like, his teal irises shining with sadness; to upset his adoptive father could only fill him with a sense of anxiety and remorse that no other child could imagine. "It wasn't that hard to climb up—I just wanted to see if I could and I did…Please don't be angry, Master!"

Frollo's expression remained unchanged as he studied Quasimodo's expression before turning his attention back up towards the rafters. "Do you mean to tell me that you are capable of climbing all the way up_ there?_" he asked neutrally, his eyes directed skywards and examining the space above.

Quasimodo raised his eyebrows in surprise of the Minister's unexpected inquiry, instead expecting sheer exasperation and a heated scolding. Frollo looked as composed as ever: hands behind his back, his angular face stone-like, no traces of wrath whatsoever. "Yes, sir…I taught myself to climb a few months ago."

"And when were you planning on informing me of this newfound skill?" Frollo challenged, his tone become more taunting despite the same level of collectiveness.

"Umm, soon." Quasimodo was now sure that the judge would snap with anger and lecture him harshly for withholding information. "But I'm very good at climbing now, Master; I learned to climb the church walls outside!"

"_Outside?_ You've been scaling the cathedral walls?!" Frollo suddenly gripped Quasimodo by his slumped shoulders, eyes suddenly gleaming with a ferocious fire. "What in blazes are you thinking, boy? Do you want to get yourself killed?!"

Tensing under the judge's hold, Quasimodo shakily tried to answer back. "But…but, Master! I'm very good at climbing—I promise I won't get hurt!"

Letting him go, the judge's form was still tense. But seeing as that Quasimodo was unhurt still did not entirely relieve him, with the thought of the Archdeacon chiding him to no end should something happen to the boy playing in his mind. Rubbing the back of his neck and examining the gargantuan space above his head filled with rafters and bells, the Minister rationalized. He damn well couldn't idle here all day to ensure that Quasimodo was staying grounded and safe; on the other hand, was he willing to face the subdued wrath of Father Augustin?

"Quasimodo," he calmly began. "Have you ever injured yourself while climbing?"

"No! Well, not very much, Master," the boy immediately answered, shaking his head. "I fell a few times."

"Listen to me: I understand that with the limited amount of activities available here, these…_acrobatics_ seem an interesting choice as a pastime. Therefore, you must promise me that you will do everything in your power to make sure that you stay safe and do not hurt yourself if you are going to continue practicing these little stunts. Are we clear?"

Quasimodo beamed an enthusiastic smile as he nodded and said, "Yes, sir! I mean, no—I-I won't hurt myself, Master! I promise! Watch!"

Without warning, the hunchbacked boy turned on his heels and rushed towards a pile of broken statue pieces, quickly grabbing the edge of a saint's head and hoisting himself on top. Quasimodo leaped onto the platform above him before expertly sprinting up one of the slanted wooden beams, climbing higher and higher. The Minister of Justice clapped his hand over his mouth in awe and perplexity as his ward demonstrated his parkour skills as nimbly as a spider, swinging from rope to rope as it were his web, the bell tower becoming his playground.

Frollo muttered anxious curses under his breath as Quasimodo landed onto a wooden beam below him, running along with ease before leaping down before the judge.

Trying not to look too surprised, Frollo clasped his hands before himself said, "Well, I must admit that it is…_something_. But still, I must warn you again to be extremely careful when practicing this sport of yours. Can I trust you with that?"

Quasimodo flashed his crooked teeth in a smile, overjoyed by his master's approval, and eagerly answered, "Yes sir! I will!"

"Very good. Now then, shall we eat?"

X

Frollo craned his neck to the side, producing a popping sound as his eyes adjusted back to the Parisian spring sunlight upon exiting Notre Dame. Momentarily pausing, he turned and again studied the façade of the massive building as he remembered Quasimodo's earlier statement. Climbing the walls of this great holy structure? _Impossible,_ he thought to himself, hoping that the boy was exaggerating and not putting himself in danger by attempting such a thing. The last thing he needed to worry about was an injured child in his care.

"_Minister Frollo!"_

Cocking his attention around, Frollo stood tall as two old officially-dressed men approached him. One, appearing a couple of decades older than the Minister himself, was as haggard as some of the beggars that the judge's men arrested; had it not been for the rich imported fabric of his gown and shining rings adorning his fingers, this man could have easily been mistaken for a local vagrant with his unkempt gray hair flying in all directions. That did not keep him from acting as the King's proctor—the man, Jacques Charmolue. His deep wrinkled face beamed at the judge as he shuffled towards him, acquaintance in tow. His colleague looked only slightly younger than himself, whose visage was sterner and accentuated by his sharp facial features, complimented with a thin mustache. Oily black hair covered mostly by a large hat, the attention was more drawn to the rich fur-lined coat he wore; this man was Jacques Coictier, chief physician to King Louis.

"Master Charmolue, Doctor Coiticier, good day to you both," the judge amicably greeted, shaking both of their hands. Frollo felt relieved that for once he was not bothered by some old fool whom he held contempt for, but rather two learned men who had mentored him.

"I told you we'd find him here!" Charmolue remarked to Coictier. "And _you_ wanted to check the Palace of Justice first! The church is a shepherd, always keeping its flock from straying too far."

"An excellent analogy, Your Honor," Frollo replied, nodding respectfully, hands folded before him.

"Seems about right," Doctor Coictier added, his voice monotone and droning. "I suppose when one fails to achieve the position they want, they cannot help but return to grovel before those who rejected them."

Frollo's eyes pierced the doctor's, wishing for a moment that the term _shooting daggers_ could be in the literal sense right about now. He did not appreciate being reminded of his failure of obtaining priesthood by his old adversary. The Minister of Justice knew to hold his tongue at times when speaking to someone so high in the French political food chain. Jacques Coictier had been there multiple times to try and denounce the abilities of the judge: from latter's early days as a student and a young minister, to more recent years as Frollo proposed new ideas to improve the welfare of Paris. However, much to Coictier's chagrin, Frollo had proven time and time again that in a battle of wits, he was more than capable of holding his own against the esteemed doctor.

Ignoring his rival's swipe, Frollo asked Charmolue, "To what do I owe the pleasure this fine day?"

"Relax, Claude," he replied lightly. "I'm not here on any official business. But I do have a request of you, given what I've heard from a reliable source."

"What information would that be?" Frollo furrowed his brows suspiciously, doubting that any source giving information on him could be deemed reliable.

"You see, my boy," the old man locked his crooked fingers together as he spoke. "In such tumultuous times across this world of ours, there are some who strive to make it a better place—you for one can concur with that. Take the Florentines, with that attempted coup not three years ago. Their grand master of sorts, Lorenzo de' Medici, as I have heard, is quite the leader—a strong reign he holds over that city."

"So I've heard," Frollo unenthusiastically replied. "Jacques, what does this little current events report have to do with _me?_"

Raising his hand to silence the Minister, Charmolue continued. "Think of the power one could achieve with an ally like the Medici family on his side. And we are diplomats, are we not?"

"Of course, now would you please just tell me what this is about?" The Minister of Justice asked, trying to sound too bored with his teacher's incessant babbling and riddles.

"Very well, Claude. To gain favor with someone as powerful as Lorenzo de' Medici, you have to _wow_ him—make yourself stand out against all the others to show that you are worthy of such a position. And it occurred to me, how do you win over someone who strives to make his city wealthier?"

Frollo glanced at the reserved Coictier, who stood by uninterested in associate's words. To hurry the conversation along, the judge humored the King's proctor and guessed, "Propose a trade agreement that also offers military protection?"

"Not quite. You can impress them with the power of turning ordinary metals into _gold!_ I mean alchemy, my boy! I've heard that you've tried your hand at it, and I know you are a man of many talents. So what say you? Will you teach your old mentor Flamel's famous art?"

Looking back balefully at the silent doctor, Frollo accusingly asked, "_You_ told him that?"

Coictier shrugged. In his dead, emotionless voice he answered, "The subject came up, and I simply suggested that if anyone could brew the Elixir of Life or create the Philosopher's Stone, it would undoubtedly be the _most impressive_ Judge Claude Frollo."

"Precisely!" Charmolue piped up. "With a skill like that, we'll be in the pockets of every leader all over the world!"

"Your Honor," Frollo said. "Despite what the King's most "respectable" physician has professed, the art of alchemy is only something that I studied very briefly as a teenager. And even then, I myself never uncovered Flamel's secrets to eternal life. I may have spent days digging through the ruins of his former home, but found nothing of importance. So I apologize for the misleading information that our friend, Doctor Coictier, has given you."

Crestfallen, the old proctor nodded in understanding. "Ah well, then I suppose I'll have to find another tutor in the field."

"Master Jacques, alchemy is nothing more than some preposterous pseudoscience—a Satanic art! You would be better off finding another field of expertise to impress the Medici family, perhaps something that you are already educated in, given that you _are_ the King's proctor."

"Perhaps. Well, I'm sure you of all people could have made gold with proper time and materials, Minister."

"Please, he couldn't even show off this professed skill to another friend years ago, Jacques," Coictier sardonically remarked. "Claude here told Tourangeau that he was "too old" to learn, even though he was no closer to making gold than he is to curing the plague. Figures that our dear Minister would come up short when his superior facilities are most needed." Frollo caught fleeting sight of the doctor's mocking grin.

Locking eyes with Coictier's own dark-circled ones and crossing his arms, Frollo shot back, "I understand that making such judgment comes easily to those skilled in only one area, such as that of a _doctor_, but I would enjoy to see yourself handle a position such as mine and having to be educated in an assortment of subjects. Something as absurd as alchemy is not particularly at the top of my list of priorities."

The doctor and King's advocate exchanged expressions, both taken aback. It seemed as though Frollo was dangerously close to losing his temper, usually preferring to keep a cool head when dealing with fellow officials to keep a professional appearance. Even in the most heated of debates, the Minster could easily best an opponent without so much as raising his voice until pushed too far.

Charmolue's attention shifted away, discreetly pointing away and abruptly saying, "I say, Minister, why on earth does that gypsy over there keep giving you the evil eye?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Frollo only saw a shabbily cloaked man immediately turn away, shielding himself behind a group of nearby fish vendors. "Who knows? But should he decide to stir up any trouble, it is nothing that a rightfully placed punishment would not correct."

"Yes, where would the city be without your sanguinary barbarism under the pretense of enforcing justice?" Coictier jeered, grating on the judge's last nerve, his dark sunken eyes baiting the Minister further. "You know, Claude, the more you treat those people like rats, the more they are bound to object to you. Shouldn't your duty be trying to keep peace in the city, instead of fueling a widespread rebellion and more hostility?"

"They _are _nothing more than rats!" Frollo snapped, inching threateningly close to his associate. "I find it rather odd that a _physician_ feels so inclined to instruct me on the aspects of _my_ position."

"Pay him no mind," Charmolue intervened before the judge and Coictier could come to blows, nudging the judge back from the doctor. "We have our God-given talents, and we must put them to good use! For the safety of our country, we should spare no expense at stamping out a few undesirables."

"Thank you, sir. I'm sure even the King himself would concur with such a statement." With that, Frollo was quick to give the doctor a curt taunting nod, whose pallid face was strained to remain unmoved as he fought back his own bitter retort.

"Louis is quite impressed with the work you've done," Charmolue continued, smiling proudly at his former pupil. "Your ruthlessness against these gypsies has been momentous in crushing their shameless ways! More gypsies tortured, tried, and executed than we know what to do with them, and to that we say well done, Claude! I mean, such harsh punishment for even their small crimes against Paris; it takes a firm hand to exact such justice."

"Look," Doctor Coictier spoke up, one thin finger pointing towards a cloaked man quietly nearing the men. "Here comes one of your many fans now, Your Honor."

"Well, we should let you return to your daily duties, Claude. So perhaps Jacques and I should take our leave, but we can talk politics another time," the King's proctor gesturing to his colleague, the latter being more than happy to leave.

"Please, these peasant problems don't take very long to resolve. Probably just another complaint about the guard," Frollo assured as looked down at the mysterious man approaching him. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Lowering his hood, the man revealed himself to be the same scraggly-looking gypsy man from earlier, whose black eyes locked forebodingly with the judge's own gray ones. His grime-caked face leered maliciously at the looming Minister, lips turned downwards in a grimace.

The Minister's eyes rolled at the response of silence. "Mangy gypsy, I don't have all day!" Frollo warned, arms falling to his side and balling his hands into fists. He frowned, annoyed at having his time wasted for the sake of some mute beggar. "If there is no urgent matter at hand, then I suggest you make yourself scarce before I-"

In a sudden wave of the tattered cloak, Frollo barely saw the man lunge forward and drive something into his shoulder, the judge not even registering the gasps of his associates. The gypsy suddenly pulled back his right arm holding onto something, before plunging it into the judge's side. In a flash, the man had whipped around and sprinted down through the square, pushing and shoving numerous merchants and peddlers.

Shaking off the confusion of what just occurred, Frollo looked back at the awestruck magistrate and doctor whose jaws hung in complete shock. Pressing his right hand to his left shoulder where he was struck, the judge felt his robe was slightly damp, lifting his hand to find it covered in crimson blood. Instinctively, he grabbed hold of his shoulder tight, blood still escaping through his fingers. Without warning, he doubled over as a stinging pain tore through his arm followed by one in his side, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth in response.

"Guard! Guard!" Frollo heard Charmolue cried out, pointing in the direction of the perpetrator. "That man has attacked the Minster! Hurry before he escapes!"

Frollo's breaths were labored as blood continued to stream from his puncture wounds, knees buckling under him. Looking up, he watched as his metalclad men pursued the swift, fleeing gypsy running into the crowd of peasants in the square of Notre Dame. Blood roaring in his ears and overwhelmed by the affliction of his injuries, Frollo cursed at the top of his lungs, "Infernal gypsy dog!"

Attempting to stand up again, Frollo looked up at his idle associates who could do nothing more than watch him struggle. "Don't just stand there!" he barked, eyes burning in frustration. "Aren't you going to help me?!"

"Umm, actually, Claude," Doctor Coictier answered, readjusting his hat and backing away. "I seemed to have forgotten that Master Jacques and I have an important meeting to attend." Frollo could see the man's mustache twitching upward as he tried to conceal his smirk.

"Oh, of course!" Charmolue skittishly agreed, his careworn face paler than before. Coictier tugging at the magistrate's sleeve anxiously, Charmolue looked down at his former student trying to keep himself from bleeding out. "Apologies, Minister, but we must be on our way! Good day!"

Watching Charmolue and Coictier quickly stride away, Frollo uneasily lifted himself back on his feet and leaned heavily against the front door of the church, pushing it open with his uninjured shoulder. Lumbering sluggishly into the nave of the church, Frollo gritted his teeth as the searing pain continued to tear through his arm and stomach. "_King's physician_, please! Of all the spineless things…" he cursed under his breath.

"_Good gracious!"_ Frollo twisted around to see the Archdeacon exiting the bell tower stairwell, Quasimodo behind him. Quickly turning the boy away, Augustin studied the blanched Minister trying to quell his bleeding wounds. "Claude, what happened to you?!"

"One moment I was having a discussion with my peers, and in the next, a gypsy had pulled a knife on me—so if you would please lend me the necessary supplies before I bleed to death!" One arm crossed over his chest to suppress the bleeding in his shoulder, the other over the wound in his abdomen, the Minister was starting to feel increasingly dizzy, his breathing shallowed, and his heartbeat continued to pound in his ears.

"Quasimodo, go back to the bell tower and stay there!" The Archdeacon insisted, quickly pushing the hunchback up the stairwell. Hurrying back up the stairs, Quasimodo glanced over his slumped shoulder to steal a peek at the scene ensued by his master.

Father Augustin rushed forward, eyes scanning over the state of the Minister. "Come quickly! We'll see to this immediately!" The Archdeacon gently and hurriedly pushed Frollo across the nave, into one of the vestries.

Inside the cell, Frollo looked down on the sole straw pallet, grinding his teeth at the pain. "Use these to quell the bleeding," Augustin instructed, handing Frollo some linen cloths, the latter gladly taking them and holding them to his wounds. "Let me fetch a few things and some help, and I'll be right back."

"Just leave the supplies here and I shall tend to them myself," Frollo stubbornly stated, face white as a sheet as he continued to suppress the bleeding, breathing heavily as his vision began to blur.

"I'm not going to try to argue with you right now, Claude, I'm going to get help." With that, the Archdeacon was gone.

Frollo slouched down gracelessly onto the straw pallet, propping himself against the wall, chaperon tumbling to the side. Bleary-eyed, the small church cell seemed to be spinning around him. He replayed the moment back in his head, how that gypsy seemed to appear out of nowhere and catch him completely off-guard. The notion left him feeling completely foolish: to not be on the offense in the presence of one of their kind as he should have been. The humiliation from such an ordeal stung more than the gushing lacerations.

_God, this can't be how I'm going to perish,_ he inwardly pleaded, head still reeling and vision unfocused while wishing he were more alert had he not been losing so much blood.

He suddenly felt a shake of his uninjured shoulder, blinking back to the present. Focusing, he suddenly saw the worried expression of the Archdeacon, behind him a nun wearing a standard beige robe and black head covering, her head bowed down respectfully.

"Claude, I've brought Sister Elise here to assist us," Augustin said, holding a bottle of wine in his hands. "She's been trained as an infirmarian, thankfully."

A young woman with a sweet face, who nervously flickered her eyes between the angry judge and the stone floor. In her own small hands, she held a small stack of white linen cloths, bandages, and needles and thread. "Yes, forgive me, Minister, for such an uncomfortable situation-"

"I don't care!" Frollo snapped through gritted teeth, startling the two others. "Just do what you must!"

"Very well," Augustin agreed. "How many injuries?"

"Just two—the shoulder and stomach." Frollo hissed as more blood soaked through the linen cloths, pure rage somehow keeping him conscious.

"Then I suppose we should get started right away. Minister, if you please, remove your robe," the Archdeacon instructed, uncorking the wine.

Frollo's eyes darted between the Archdeacon and Sister Elise before settling on his hand holding the cloth over his shoulder.

Removing the cloth from its spot, Frollo felt the air strike the slash, only to become more aggravated when he began to undo the buttons of his judicial robe, sliding it off his good shoulder. Frollo saw how the front of his black doublet was stained with blood from the gash in his side, while the purple sleeve of his left had turned the color of wine.

Undoing the clasps in the front, he reluctantly pulled his injured arm out of the sleeve, the shy nun looking away awkwardly and her cheeks reddening. The whole left side of his torso exposed, Frollo curled his lip at the sight of so much blood covering his person.

"Best to start on the more severe one on the side," Augustin remarked to Elise, who nodded anxiously in agreement.

"Yes, Father. Minister, we need you, um, on your back," the nun instructed, intimidated by the pale and exasperated judge. As an infirmarian, she had seen unspeakable things and ailments, but there was something so foreboding and frightening to see the Minister of Justice in a state of affliction, especially half-naked.

"First the wine, then we will start applying the stitches," Augustin instructed.

Frollo's hand shot up, pausing him and the jittery sister. "Keep in mind that if any sloppy work results in something fatal, it shall be on _your_ head," he threatened the Archdeacon, gray eyes still burning with rage. It was with great unwillingness that the Minister laid back on the worn pallet, clutching at the other half of his doublet covering his right, not wanting to expose the hidden trails of scars covering his back.

X

Muscles pulling painfully, Frollo forced himself to stand up, despite the instructions of the Archdeacon to rest while his injuries healed. He was told from a young age that rest was for the dead anyway, his industrious nature thanking him for such a mentality. That Sister Elise had been so shaky while tending to his wounds that it was a wonder that she did not rip the gash wide open.

Frollo balanced himself against the wall as he tried to regain his stature despite the dizziness that struck him as soon as he tried. The judge looked at the bandaging over his stomach, then aside at that covering his left shoulder. _What's another few? _He thought grimly, imagining the new marks that now adorned his body.

Turning his head aside, he barely saw his hat resting on the straw pallet. With some difficulty, he managed to dress himself in the black doublet he wore under his judicial robes. Hooking in the clasps, there was suddenly a frantic knock at the cell door, making him a jump a bit.

_No peace whatsoever,_ Frollo thought bitterly. Shaking his head he called, "Who is it?"

"_Claude—it's me!" _Frollo recognized the voice instantly, reluctantly pulling the iron lock then the door handle, Jehan rushing in. "Oh, thank God—I thought you were a goner!" he breathed, relieved to see his older brother still in one piece, standing tall and commanding as ever, albeit paler than he usually was.

"Did someone tell you otherwise?" Frollo asked unemotionally.

"Well, you know how fast rumors can travel, and how…_misleading_ they can be. You wouldn't believe the load of bull they were saying down at L'Pomme. But I'm glad to see you're still alive and well!" Jehan excitedly gripped his brother by the shoulders, eliciting a hiss of agony from the stiff judge. "Alright, alive and but not well," he said, Frollo irritatedly frowning at him as he instinctively took hold of his injured arm.

"Don't do that!" his voice menacing, taking a deep breath to handle the pain as he gripped his forearm tightly.

Jehan scratched his head as he studied his brother's response to the soreness in his arm. "Those gypsies really a did a number on you, didn't they?" he asked, taking some pleasure at seeing the Minister in such agony. "They get you anywhere else?"

"The stomach—and it was only _one_ gypsy, mind you. You should know better than to believe everything you hear from the lips of tavern drunks." Frollo regained his composure, lest he be seen as incapable of tolerating a few aches in the eyes of his brother.

"You're probably right. They won't be too happy to hear that their favorite bureaucrat survived a knife attack, but they'd have found out sooner or later. By the way, you should go and have a talk with your boy in the bell tower; I went up there to ask what happened, and he was worried you might have died or something, so best to clear that up now before he starts saying one of those mourning prayers."

"He's not the only one I'd like to have a word with," Frollo remarked coldly, eyes darting to the small iron-barred window letting in the scarce sunlight.

"Who rattled your cage this time?" Jehan sardonically asked, hands on his hips and looking at his tense brother.

Absent-mindedly gazing through the small window to the city, Frollo answered, "You know Jacques Coictier, the King's doctor? As soon as I was attacked and bleeding on the steps of the church, he decides that it's time to flee the scene, without so much as asking about my condition and preferring to leave me to die! I've always said that he is nothing but an arrogant, two-faced coward!"

Jehan looked at the judge with limited interest. "Well, sorry about that, Claude, but I can see that you've got your own things to take care of so I'll leave you to that. Now if you excuse me, I have a full day ahead of me, so I will see you soon!" Giving the judge a two-finger salute, Jehan left his brother alone in the dusty cell.

As he sat alone, Frollo could feel the wound in his arm still lightly throbbing with pain. _Of all the low, underhanded, conniving things…_he began to think. How was it that only he himself could see gypsies for what he believed what they truly were? Most people either chose to ignore the problem or claim that the threat they were to the city was greatly exaggerated by the judge. No doubt attacking the Minister of Justice might actually help his propaganda against them, rallying more of Paris to side against them.

_That's it, _he suddenly thought, cogs in his mind turning.

The idea dawned on him. Quickly reaching for his black robe crumpled on the stone floor, the muscles in his abdomen crying out in pain, he hurriedly dressed himself. As he struggled to arrange himself back to his former glory, his mind raced with his new thought.

Frollo rushed out of the cell, striding down the hall, until suddenly he was stopped by the Archdeacon himself, whose face was etched with worry to see the Minister in such a whirlwind after enduring such malevolence.

"Minister," he said calmly despite brown eyes expressing alarm. "I'm glad to see you up, but you really should not be straining yourself, lest you want those wounds to take more time healing."

"I am feeling just fine," Frollo protested, sidestepping the man. "Now, it is important that I go and see my ward immediately; the poor boy probably has questions of what he had seen, so goodbye."

Before Father Augustin could say another word, Frollo was already marching down the long hallway. Finally he reached the bell tower stairs, gliding up them while ignoring the injury in his abdomen. When he arrived in the bell tower, his eyes scanned up and down, in case his charge might still be at it and running over the rafters.

"_But what if Jehan is right? What if my master isn't going to make it?"_ Frollo stopped and listened to Quasimodo up in the loft as he expressed his concerns to his stone companions. "What will happen to me? He protects me, takes care of me…no, I couldn't go out _there_. You heard what he said, it's not for me…The master isn't _that_ bad! He's the one who teaches me everything. If he's…_gone_, then who will?"

Suddenly Frollo felt he could not listen to such anguish any longer. Stepping up the ladder, he called out to the boy, who peered eagerly in the direction of his approaching guardian.

"Master!" he greeted wholeheartedly, clambering down from his rafter and looking up in awe at the once presumed dead judge. "You're alright!"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Frollo replied evenly, hand once again holding his left arm.

"Jehan said that you were hurt, and that they might not be able to help you!" the boy recounted. "I saw you—all the blood on the floor, and the Archdeacon told me to wait up here. Master, what happened to you?"

"Quasimodo, didn't I tell you _not_ to believe every word that flies out of Jehan's mouth? And regretfully, I was attacked by a gypsy."

"A gypsy?"

"Yes, one who had the gall to pull a dagger on me while I was in the middle of discussing some important matters with a few associates of mine. I told you that no good could come from their kind!"

Quasimodo shrunk in response to his master's rising voice. "They're _really_ that evil, Master? You were right?" he asked in a lowered voice and looking over his shoulder, as if one were nearby.

Clearly his throat and keeping his countenance stern, Frollo answered, "Undoubtedly. They won't stop until they have devastated the whole of society, starting with public officials such as myself! Their souls are so filled with darkness that they would even attempt to kill the very man who lives to improve this city."

"I thought…I thought that people weren't supposed to murder?" Quasimodo said falteringly, remembering the number of times Frollo tested him on the Lord's commandments.

"You're correct, dear boy. That is precisely why the gypsies are ripe with devilish sin—they could never truly accept God unless we beat it into them," Frollo cynically replied, stepping past Quasimodo and walking outside onto the balcony and leaning against its parapet on his hands, ignoring the pressure in his left arm.

"Master," Quasimodo hesitantly spoke after following him outside. "The Archdeacon says that everyone just needs to be treated with kindness and respect. He said if we try to understand others, then we can make life better for everyone."

Frollo chuckled dryly, no humor whatsoever in his voice. "Wishful thinking!" the judge remarked over his shoulder as Quasimodo took up a spot next to him and gazed down at Paris as well.

"What does that mean?" the boy asked, not particularly enjoying the dark nature of this conversation.

"If people relied on "understanding" do you think Charlemagne could have brought civilization to those heathens, the Saxons? No, he wouldn't have," Frollo vented, eyes scanning over the cityscape. "The world is inherently evil, Quasimodo, and sometimes those who contribute to making it so must be dealt with in a manner that might seem cruel, but is all for the greater good."

Quasimodo looked through the stone banisters down at the bustling city as well, taking note of the many citizens going about their day and wondering about these fabled gypsies. He then asked, "Master, what are you going to do with that gypsy if you catch him?"

"_When _the guards capture the man responsible, he will punished so severely that no gypsy will even _think_ about doing something so idiotic and capricious! They have crossed the line at making attempt on my life, and mark my words, the people will finally see them for the animals they truly are. I'm sure even the King will allow me to handle the threat they pose after learning of this attempted murder."

Frollo mused to himself, _There truly is nothing more rewarding than watching them suffer for their crimes…_

***A/n: I don't care if the fandom has gone on hiatus, I still love writing. Read and review please! I NEED FEEDBACK!**

**P.S. Here's to ChicRockerGeek for enjoying the last chapter! And if you're a Fresme shipper, check out my story "Love You to Death"!**


	20. The Hammer Comes Down

Sunlight peeked through the clouds, shining brightly over the city, and a mob gathered in front of Notre Dame. The ever-exciting execution stage had been erected in the square, a wooden chopping block centered, and the citizens crowded eagerly to watch the grisly spectacle, the Minister of Justice standing high and mighty above the sea of his small-minded audience.

Parisians hurled their insults and curses as the judge motioned for his men to bring forth the shackled prisoner, who only stared coldly and expressionlessly at the Minister and out towards the spectators. Frollo expected tears and incoherent utterances of repent, but the man only exhibited stoicism, serving to annoy him.

As he dressed himself earlier that morning, Frollo examined the new scars that now adorned his shoulder and side, gripping the small brown scapular hanging around his neck as a surge of anger overcame him. He saw the blank expression of his attacker in his mind, hatred making him grit his teeth. Nobody humiliated the Minister of Justice without facing the consequences.

Now he stood powerfully above the masses, a scroll of parchment in hand with the sentence written on. What he should have relished in with vindictive pride was now replaced with sole desire for bloody vengeance. Unfurling the scroll, Frollo cast a sideways glance at the still gypsy, stone-faced and ready to be martyred.

Frollo read the charges to the city, deadly baritone resonating authoritatively. _Attempted assassination of a public official…_Fingers clenching around the parchment and igniting the crowd's scorn and boos, some going as far as to fling garbage at the Minister's prisoner.

Frollo gestured to his henchmen, who shoved the gypsy man forward to his knees, pressing his face against the chopping block. A black-hooded executioner stepped forward, cradling a heavy axe in his gloved hands while the gypsy man still showed no signs of remorse, even as the crowded rained rotten food upon him. With one nod from the judge, the axe swung high, sunlight beaming off its perfectly sharpened blade…

X

"Sir, the actions of one gypsy shouldn't be grounds for oppressing the entire Romani population!" The Captain protested as he stood in the Minister's study while the latter shuffled through numerous parchment pieces.

Not bothering to look up at the rough-faced soldier, Frollo answered, "The people seem to agree with my decision; I have handled the gypsies' banal crimes for years and now the reality of them has finally come to the public's full attention. And besides, Captain, I have the support of the King on my side—His Majesty himself sees these people for what they are as well. Remember that those gypsies brought this upon themselves! It only takes one to worsen it for the rest. That assassination attempt was the key to getting Louis's permission to keep them down on the social food chain."

Spring was drawing close to summer and the Minister had worked diligently in creating propaganda against the gypsies of Paris, fueled by the calamity of the incident in front of the cathedral. Penning letters to King Louis expressing his concern over the danger posed to the city by so-called "lawless heathens," he purported that the only rational way of curbing the problem was too enact stricter laws, further limiting what little freedoms they already were allowed in Paris. Given Frollo's nearly immaculate judicial record, he did not have to wait long for Louis's response on the issue; with full regal support, the judge began writing up new mandates restricting the actions of the city's gypsy population.

"I can't believe he is actually allowing this," Gerard commented, mostly to himself but not going unheard by the judge.

Locking eyes with the man, Frollo grimly asked, "Does the fact that they have no regard for the law mean _anything_ to you, Captain? Do I have to remind you that our duty granted by our country is to execute the law against those who violate it? Does the fact that that gypsy tried to murder your superior on the very steps of Our Lady—_in front of witnesses_—mean nothing to you? I will do what is necessary to prevent something as inconceivably foolish as this from happening again, whether or not it seems moral in your eyes. You will not stand idly by and allow for such crimes to be committed simply because of a difference in ethical opinion. Are we clear?"

Fighting the urge not to bash the judge's head into the stone wall, the reluctant Captain mechanically answered, "Yes, Your Honor."

"Good," Frollo said, hoping that there would be no further protests from his second-in-command. "Remember your place, Captain."

The man's face was stone-like, holding back curses. "And once we evict them from their homes, where do you suggest that they go?" The impertinent Captain inquired boldly.

"Well they pride themselves on being nomadic, do they not?" Frollo replied. "Finding another hole to dwell in will certainly not be a problem for them. As long as they are not in the way and threatening the livelihoods of hard-working citizens, then it is of no real concern of mine."

Captain Gerard showed great apprehension towards his employer's attitude, not at all in agreement with the decision. He could only bite his tongue while his expression betrayed him, showing the uneasiness with his orders.

"Oh, please, don't act so noble," Frollo taunted when he saw his Captain's look of concern etched on his rugged face. "You knew damn well what was in store when you took this position."

"I didn't think displacing masses of people because of some prejudice would be part of it."

Frollo's hand tensed on the quill. "I am beginning to question where your loyalties lie. For your sake I hope that you will not use these personal morals of yours to justify doing something, let us say, _rash._" Something about the soldier's constant questions and impassioned words against the Minister's orders did not sit well with him. "After all," Frollo mocked. "It would be quite a shame to lose an effective Captain with such a gleaming record, wouldn't it? Especially since the consequences for treachery are quite severe."

The judge rose from his seat. Gray eyes burning into the Captain's, Frollo icily responded, "Just do your job." Handing Gerard a scroll of parchment, he then said, "You and your men's orders for today: clear the left bank of the Seine of beggars, vagrants, entertainers—any gypsy you come across. After we have driven those underground, we may begin to clear the right bank, then outwards to the rest of the city."

Before he could start his crusade, Frollo ordered his men to give notice to the citizens of an official announcement. Opening the doors of the Palace of Justice and walking down some steps, he studied the intrigued and confused faces of his subjects, who wondered to each other what was so pressing that the judge called the city for an announcement.

"People of Paris!" Frollo thundered. "Give the recent insubordinate and destructive behavior carried out by the city's Romani, or "gypsy", population, I am obligated to do everything in my power to ensure the safety of our citizens. They are the poisonous root preventing Paris from flourishing to its full potential—and to survive, a poison must be extracted…"

Frollo's words stirred the people. Some were already quite fearful that the city was grave danger if the Minister of Justice himself was almost murdered by a mere gypsy beggar. His words offered assurance to those in doubt of the protection and well-being of their city, and with an unwavering leader like Claude Frollo at the helm, perhaps all there was to do was give him their complete support. The Parisians cheered, rejoicing and wondering what the judge had up his sleeve, and eager to see their city safe once again.

The days marched on as Frollo's agenda was put to work as he rallied his men to "clean up" the city of stray gypsies, the support of the citizens fueling him. However, King Louis had written his guidelines for Frollo's actions, which noted that stray gypsies or those residing in cars in the city were to be pushed to the outskirts of Paris, while the few living in proper lodging as other citizens would be allowed to stay where they were.

However, many were not fortunate to be simply ejected from their dwellings. Frollo had ordered countless to be apprehended for trespassing, vagrancy, soliciting, and every other crime he could find as means of arrest.

He watched impassively as his men tore countless innocent Roma from the streets,being ordered to leave and cease performing or face arrest. Some wept and pleaded that the Minister show clemency and not force them from their homes. There were those brave enough to defy judicial orders and refused to comply, cursing and spitting at the city guards until they were met with shackles and, occasionally, violent reactions.

Day after day, Frollo would sit atop Romulus and watch as one caravan after another somberly tow its way out of the city and into the country. Under the Minister of Justice's orders, the gypsies found themselves uprooted and even more penniless than before.

X

"You've really gone off the deep end with this gypsy stuff, you know that?" Jehan's voice interrupted.

Frollo and Quasimodo looked up from the book they carefully studied as they sat across from each other at the small table, seeing the third member of their de facto family tread up the wooden steps. "All of a sudden the whole city seems to not to trust them anymore—not even letting them near their stands and carts! Well, you know… the ones who are left in the city, at least. What did you do?" Jehan asked, eyebrow arched.

A sly grin stretching his thin lips, Frollo answered, "The people have finally decided to listen to reason, realizing the pestilence they are to the city and deciding to take charge." Quasimodo, not interested in listening to what he assumed would be an oncoming brotherly bickering, put his climbing skills to use and disappeared up into the rafters.

"You turned all of Paris against them? You've really used that knife thing to your advantage, haven't you?"

"It was not as though such animosity hadn't already existed; that little incident just brought the threat that they pose to the light."

"I thought it might be your doing when I was walking over here and saw a couple of them getting pelted with rocks and garbage," Jehan remarked. "Turns out, that old woman with the fish cart has a pretty good arm—got some gypsy kid right between the eyes!"

"I don't encourage such crass behavior, but I can't keep the people from doing what they will to their kind," Frollo smugly retaliated, ignoring his own flagrant hypocrisy.

"I'm no bureaucrat or lawyer, but this character assassination seems a little harsh, don't you think? I'm sure if you want to stamp out crime there's probably a simpler way of doing that. After all, there's more than one way to skin a cat, Claude."

"Thank you for the political advice, but I believe I am more than capable of containing the situation without it."

Jehan simply shook his head and scoffed at his brother's statement. "If you say so. You may walk around with a chip on your shoulder, but your issues with gypsies are none of my business."

"Correct. Now then, what do you want, and also," Frollo nodded and then gestured to the bag hanging over his Jehan's shoulder. "Why are you carrying this around?"

Removing the canvas haversack from his shoulder, Jehan carefully emptied out its contents onto the wooden table before his brother and hunchback, who swiftly climbed down to rejoin his master at ground-level. Out of the bag spilled coins of gold and silver, jewelry from brooches to necklaces, even a dagger or two in their finely crafted leather sheaths. Quasimodo's eyes gleamed with fascination while Frollo's shone with astonishment and suspicion, all the while Jehan smiled contently. "Feeling charitable today, I suppose," he remarked.

Quasimodo busied himself with sifting through the various treasures while Frollo inspected a coin himself, surprised to find that it was not counterfeit. Pursing his lips and looking up at Jehan, the judge incredulously asked, "Pray tell, little brother …How _did_ you acquire such a bounty?"

Placing his hand on his brother's rigid shoulder, Jehan answered, "Does it really matter, Claude? You wanted me to earn money on my own, and I found a job that pays well—_very well, actually!_"

"_A job?_ I wasn't aware that such a word was even in your vocabulary," Frollo sardonically commented in disbelief. "What kind of work did you find that you are actually willing to do?"

"That's for me to know. What do you care?"

Quickly grabbing his wrist and pulling him aside, Frollo looked unyieldingly at him. In a low, threatening voice he explained, "I care because if you earned this money through means that are _not_ aligned with the law, then the consequences will be _quite_ unforgiving."

Snatching back his hand, Jehan lowly replied, "It's under control. No one is getting hurt, and the people I work with know what they're doing. Therefore: these things were given up willingly—I didn't steal it!"

"You'll have to forgive my inquiry; when someone who failed every examination from grammar school to university and suddenly finds work under an unnamed trade, one cannot help but grow a tad bit suspicious," Frollo drawled sarcastically.

"Oh, well I'm sorry I didn't make it to the clergy or become a merchant—or even some penniless poet!"

"What poet?" Quasimodo asked as he stepped forward between the brothers.

Blowing a sound of indignation, Jehan answered, "Just some failed troubadour who Claude took under his wing ages ago."

"His name was Pierre Gringoire, and yes, he was a pupil of mine for some time," Frollo elaborated. "A little older than Jehan by about a decade or so, and a local vagrant of humble name. At first meeting, he was just as my brother here: absolutely helpless. He couldn't find a trade that suited him, preferring to write poetry and plays. I saw scholastic potential in him and offered to teach him some of my expertise: letters, classics and such. As I recall, he took greatly to the works of Cicero."

Quasimodo's dark blue eyes shifted from his master to the disgruntled-looking younger Frollo and back again. "What happened to Pierre, Master?"

Bitterly, Jehan spoke up, "Yes, let's revisit what happened to good-old Pierre!"

Expression twisting in annoyance, the Minister looked down at Quasimodo and replied, "Last I heard, Pierre had left Paris in hopes of performing his tragedies for the masses all over the world."

"Translation: he probably ended up dead under a bridge somewhere, using those scripts of his plays as bandages!" Jehan commented cynically. "He was the worst, Quasimodo! Always walking around as though he was some Italian poet—acting like his work would change the world."

"Maybe so," Frollo replied coolly. "But he had a strong devotion to learning; a quality that has sadly been lost on _others_."

"Well, I've found a line of work that's a little more profitable than writing plays—plays that the townspeople would rather pelt with eggs than watch, if you recall that particular festival."

"But is it legitimate? The last thing I want to see filed in a report would be regarding some seedy street business that my brother has gotten tangled up with yet again."

Irritatedly, Jehan glowered at his older brother, the Minister. "Would you stop worrying—I swear, one of these days you're going to just keel over in the middle of your courtroom! Claude, if anything goes wrong, it's taken care of. It's nothing to lose any sleep over, got it?"

Crossing his arms sternly, Frollo kept his same unbending self against Jehan's assurance. Despite such words, the Minister could not help but sense that his brother's operation was nothing more than some underhanded scheme of criminal nature. His experience as a bureaucrat had rewarded him the gift of detecting deceit in others, especially one as dishonest as Jehan.

"Tell you what," Jehan piped up, clapping his hands together. "I said I was feeling charitable, so take whatever you want from my earnings today! Quasimodo, you too!" A smile stretched over the boy's face as he went back over to the pile of riches, eagerly trying to pick something out, Jehan right behind him.

Frollo only frowned at Jehan's sudden sense of giving, still not entirely convinced over the validity of his brother's work. "Just take something, Claude," Jehan said stubbornly, irked at his brother's staunch demeanor. Shifting his blue eyes away and back to the mountain of his earnings, Jehan's fingers dug through the coins and jewels, Frollo wondering what on earth he was doing.

"Here it is!" Jehan exclaimed, clasping his fingers around something hidden in his palm. Taking his brother's left hand, Jehan dropped into it a ring—a large emerald orb adorning the jewel, as imposing as the man to whom it was now presented. Frollo still looked skeptically at his younger brother, who stated, "You said you one like this stolen from you years ago, so here you go. From me to you, as I said: a little something for my brother."

Carefully inspecting the large stone and looking back at Jehan, Frollo hesitantly slipped the ring onto his left index finger. "For your sake, Jehan, I hope that you know what you are doing."

"I told you already, it's under control. If worst comes to worst, I'll handle it."

"Or come running to me," the judge retorted bitingly, eyes once again gazing at the magnificent jewel.

"What's this?" Quasimodo asked suddenly, holding up a silver coin. Frollo examined it, one side a bearded man with the words "Tron Dux Nicolas," the other side showing a winged lion.

"Venetian currency, most likely the doge's new policy," the judge commented, handing it back to Quasimodo.

"Can I have this?" he asked, holding a simple gold cross on a chain about the size of his hand, Jehan nodding in response.

"Food for thought, Jehan," Frollo interjected. "If this does indeed turn out to be an unlawful business that you are a part of, remember that you will not only have to answer to me, but also to your higher power: He who made man's mouth and sight, and can just as easily take it away, just as _I_ can take away your _life_."

Jehan ignored Frollo's threatening, stone-like expression. "I know, I know—I've heard it all before. Now, since you both have picked your winnings I have to get back to work, so I will see you later!" Jehan swept the rest of his riches back into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder. "Enjoy!" As the Minister and Quasimodo watched as Jehan strode off, Frollo not quite convinced of what his brother told him.

"So where do you think Jehan works, Master?" Quasimodo inquired, less suspecting than the judge, hand clutching the golden ornament.

"An excellent question, given that he has limited education and skill. Unfortunately, I cannot say but if there's any hope, it is nothing _q__uestionable._ At this rate he'll need more than confession to atone for his deeds."

X

"What do you propose we do about the dungeons, Minister?" The Captain once again stood in the center of the judge's study late one evening, inquiring about the further course of action to be taken. "The gypsies who weren't exiled to the outskirts have been arrested, but now the dungeons are vastly overcrowded."

"You needn't worry about something so trivial," Frollo nonchalantly answered, as he scribbled down the last few notes of the day. "I will see to it that every one of them is given a trial and proper punishment for their actions."

"Sir, it's not livable down there! There are too many people cramped in each cell, there's hardly any ventilation or light, and some of those people need immediate medical care. We must do _something_, quickly before there's an outbreak of sickness—or even _violence!_"

"All in good time, Captain. I will oversee such matters as soon as I can. Now, it is late so you may take your leave."

For a moment the Captain of the Guard just stood there, expression defiant against his leader. Frollo in turn looked up at the soldier, hissing out a commanding and warning, "Good day, _Captain._" With that, the man reluctantly turned and exited the judge's study.

Frollo rose from his seat, cracking his knuckles as he stretched his arms forward. Relieved to be done with the monotonous work of the day, he strode over to one of the nearby bookcases and taking a thick volume form it. He flipped through the pages of the little dated but still interesting _Travels of Marco Polo_, seating himself back into his desk chair.

A few minutes later a knock at the door roused the Minister from his reading. "Enter," he ordered, marking his place in the book and setting it down.

The young valet entered, bowing respectfully. "Minister Frollo, a message has arrived."

Frollo took the scroll and sent the boy away, eyes skimming through the document. A message from the Bishop of Orleans: _An academic conference to be held at the University of Orleans_, he read, eyebrows rising. It had been quite a while since the judge had attended such an event, the last few years having been more hectic than necessary, in doing so, preventing him from participating.

Frollo pondered it momentarily. To escape the grueling demands of his everyday duties in exchange for some invigorating, educated discussions with his fellow learned men would certainly serve for a much needed break. To gather with his peers and discuss law, theology, politics, medicine—it was not as simple to find someone discuss such subjects with in Paris.

_The Captain can handle things on his own, Quasimodo will be fine, and Jehan has his own affairs to see to_, he mused optimistically. Why not take a trip to Orleans? The date indicated that the gathering was to take place in just a few days, plenty of time to plan.

**"A/n: Did I ever mention that I always envisioned Jehan being voiced by Jason Marsden? Just my opinion. Also, I barely realized how much violence is in my story, so maybe that's grounds for upping the rating. As you can see, Frollo's really looking for more excuses to make life more miserable for gypsies. And concerning the ring, I'm using the book "Frollo Meets His Match" as a reference because, just saying, it looked way different than in the movie. So...artistic license! Plus I thought I'd mention Gringoire, even though he wasn't my favorite NDdP character.**

**But what is this? Jehan's come into some money...Frollo's constantly arguing with his Captain...Let's see what happens! But first, off to Orleans! **

**Btw, I'm considering rewriting my last story, "Little Boy Frollo." Thoughts? Opinions? R/R! And thank you for all the encouraging reviews that keep me writing!**


	21. When the Cat's Away

"Now, my boy, there is something that we need to discuss," Frollo said, corking the bottle of wine back up.

"What is it, Master?" Quasimodo asked, clearing the table of plates and cups as they had just finished lunch and an afternoon lesson after Sunday morning mass.

As the boy put the tableware back away, Frollo answered, "It seems that I am being called away to attend a conference out in Orleans—_a symposium_—which will be held Tuesday and Wednesday. The Bishop there will be housing myself and the other officials at his personal palace. I leave tomorrow morning and will return Thursday evening at the latest."

"What's a symposium?" the boy asked inquisitively.

"It is a gathering of high-ranking, learned men such as myself to discuss an assortment of subjects. And given that it will be held in Orleans, no doubt the topic will be predominantly about law."

Quasimodo blinked at the Minister, bewildered. "So…You won't be here? I won't see you until Thursday, Master?"

"It's only a few days, Quasimodo. I've already discussed it with Father Augustin and you'll be in good care, no need to fret. Besides, this is a very important meeting for me; it's been years since I last attended such an event to speak to my old peers."

Quasimodo's expression was crestfallen, almost forlorn as he gripped the edge of his brown tunic. Looking back up at Frollo, he then said, "Okay, Master, I understand. What will I do then?"

"I trust that you and your studies will not fall behind in my absence, correct? And that you will keep this bell tower from falling into disarray?"

"Oh no, Master, of course not! I mean, yes! Um…I'll do my best. What will I be studying while you're gone?" Quasimodo inquired compliantly.

"I want you to study the parables of Christ. I trust the Archdeacon will enlist your assistance in the church's maintenance." The boy affirmed the judge's orders, Frollo lightly ruffling the boy's red hair. "Very good. Now then, I have work to finish before I leave so I must be on my way. But I will be back this evening to deliver some supplies for the next few days."

Back at the Palace of Justice, Frollo had given his staff their orders for the days to come, not wanting his household to fall into disorder while he was gone. He also informed his soldiers that Captain Gerard would be in full command. "And if I return to _any_ discord or slack among my battalions," he commanded to his troops perfectly lined up outside the Palace. "There shall be severe retribution…"

Later that evening, as Frollo sat down for supper with the boy, he reminded Quasimodo to keep up on his academics and for the Archdeacon to keep watch over him.

"Promise that while I'm gone, you will behave—and if Jehan happens to show up here, do not let him talk you into doing something foolish. Do I make myself clear, Quasimodo?" Frollo asked as he cleaned up their dining ware.

"I promise," Quasimodo said. "Be safe, Master!"

X

The next morning, Frollo was finishing up the last of his notes for the Captain to read, leaving them neatly arranged on his desk before throwing the satchel of clothes over his shoulder and heading outside, the morning air greeting him warmly. As soon as the coach lurched forward, Frollo watched from the small window as Notre Dame disappeared into the distance, a smile stretching across his grim face to finally be on his way out of Paris.

Some might have enjoyed taking in the scenery of the countryside, but not the Minister, who preferred studying a few old books that had long been neglected during his time in office. After hours of reading with the minimal sunlight that made it through the window, Frollo could see the walls of the city coming into view, closing _Chronica Regni Gothorum _and taking in the landscape.

_The revered city of Orleans_…where the infamous Joan of Arc was executed for simply dressing as a man because she wanted to fight for her country against the English. As a boy, the Minster recalled his father recounting his witnessing of her execution in the city of Rouen, tied to a stake and burnt before the world for her supposed "heresy."

Once inside the city, Frollo instantly felt the pressures that weighed heavily on his shoulders be lifted off. He scrutinized the daily life of the people of Orleans going about their business, sneering at the sight of gypsies freely performing without the local authorities interfering. Given that Orleans was smaller the Paris, it didn't take long to arrive the Bishop's palace on the east side of the Loire River, only a street north of the Saint-Croix Cathedral**.**

The coach entered through the gates, the palace's footmen nodding respectfully. Exiting the vehicle and arranging his hat, Frollo was instantly met by a young man, whom he assumed was the Bishop's valet, parchment and quill in hand. "Name?" the man asked instantly.

"Claude Frollo, Minister of Justice, Paris," the judge answered monotonously, hands behind his back.

"Ah, yes. Here we are." The young valet ticked the name off of the parchment. "Welcome to Orleans, Minister. I take it you had no trouble on your journey here?"

"As smooth as one could hope," Frollo clipped, not one for idle chitchat.

"Very good, sir. His Eminence, Bishop Dimont, is currently seeing to some matter regarding the church, but he sends his regards. He promises to welcome his guests tonight at supper. So please, allow us to give you the grand tour and show you to your room."

Gesturing forward with his hand, Frollo replied, "Lead the way." He followed the young footman through the palace doors, whose portal above was adorned with the image of Saint Michael.

Once inside the foyer, Frollo studied a triptych decorating one of the walls, which depicted a bright and graphic Second Coming. A sort of reminder of the fate of one's soul, lest any visitors conjured up any unscrupulous ideas while inside the Bishop's home.

The valet clapped his hands, a young maid instantly entering and curtsying before him and the Minister. "Sonia, would you be so kind as to show Minister Frollo to his room?"

"Of course," she answered, her tone docile. "Right this way, Minister." Taking the satchel he handed to her, she strode across the foyer with the judge on her heels. Leading him up the grand staircase, she quickly said, "You will be staying on the third floor, Minister. It is where the Bishop houses visitors, so you will be neighbors with his other guests. Tomorrow morning after breakfast, the Bishop has arranged for you and the others to be escorted to the University. "

Frollo admired the clean and pristine atmosphere of the Bishop's home. Its intricate paintings on the walls and vaulted ceilings, the concrete newels of the staircase decorated with regal-looking lions, and tapestries and coat of arms hanging prominently to remind its guests of the owner's background and status. As a high-ranking man of the clergy, there was without a doubt that no expense was spared in the palace's design.

Walking down the third floor's long corridor, Sonia stopped at the end of the hall, retrieving a key from her apron and unlocking the door. Entering the room with Minister behind her, she rested his luggage on the grand bed. "Here we are, Minister. Supper will be served in about two hours and Bishop Dimont has given his guests permission to explore his library on the second floor. His Eminence hopes that you find your stay comfortable." With that, the young maid handed over the key, bowed, and left the Minister to his room.

Frollo studied the ornate guestroom, which was quite luxurious in comparison to any of those found in the Palace of Justice. On top one of the room's small tables was a bowl filled with fresh looking yellow plums. Its fine tapestries and imported furniture gave a sense of life in comparison to its guest, who radiated darkness and somberness.

Removing his hat and throwing it carelessly to the bed, Frollo took one of the plums from the bowl and walked lithely towards the great window. Taking a bite from the sweet fruit, the Minister examined the serene city of Orleans, for the first time in a long time feeling lighthearted.

X

_Meanwhile in Paris…_

Quasimodo scribbled over the old wax tablet he used for practicing letters; without the Minister, he found himself endlessly drawing what he hoped looked like one of his gargoyle friends when he unexpectedly heard the sound of frantic footsteps hurrying up the south tower steps. Leaping to his feet, he hid himself behind one of the wooden pillars. His master wasn't due back for a few days, so the boy waited to see who was brave enough to enter his domain through the neglected stairwell.

Bursting through the door was Jehan, sweating profusely and out of breath, haversack over his shoulder and a large book under his arm. His blue eyes darted around the space of the bell tower, jumping when he discovered Quasimodo hiding from and eyeing his uninvited guest, red hair falling over his face.

"Afternoon, Quasi," the young man coughed, trying to appear casual and straightening up. Clearing his throat and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, Jehan asked, "By any chance, is, uh…is my brother around?" He cocked his head back and forth, looking for any trace of the Minister.

"No, he went away to somewhere called Orleans, I think," the boy answered, stepping toward Jehan, curious what he was up to this time.

"Really?" Jehan looked relieved at the information. "_Interesting_…Well, he needed a vacation anyway—he always seems a little too tense, if you ask me. Do you happen to know when he'll be back?"

"Well, he said in a few days."

"Alright, good then." Jehan kneeled, meeting the boy at eye-level, book resting on his knee. "I need a favor from you, Quasimodo. Can you do that?"

Blinking at him, Quasimodo shyly answered, "Um…I think so. What is it?"

Taking the thick book into his hand, Jehan explained, "I need to hide some things because there are some people who, let's say, really want to get their hands on them. So, if I leave them here, you need to promise me that you won't tell anyone where they are…especially Claude if he comes back early. Do you understand?"

Studying the large brown leather-bound book and the bag bulging with more loot, no doubt, Quasimodo felt an uncertainty wash over him. "You want me to _lie_ to my master?"

"Not _lie_, per se," Jehan answered, not entirely confidant in his own words. "Just don't mention it at all, so you're really not lying, you're just not going to bring it up…_ever._ Got it? What my brother doesn't know won't hurt you, or more importantly, me."

Quasimodo wanted to reject Jehan's request, seeing as it would probably be better to leave him to handle his "people" on his own, and it would not risk getting into trouble with the Minister of Justice later on. However, his good nature reminded him of the countless times Frollo had relented in giving into his brother's requests for money and help, no matter how reluctant. Family seemed to be a core part of the world his master had created for him. If he said no to Jehan, he'd never forgive himself…

After a long-suffering sigh, Quasimodo answered, "Okay." Nodding, he prayed that he was making the right decision. "You can hide your things in one of the old broom closets. There's one behind the Joseph statue." He pointed across the way towards the indicated statue, Jehan scurrying towards it and jiggling the knob trying to open it, cursing under his breath when it wouldn't budge. Limping towards the frustrated man, Quasimodo opened the small door with ease, much to Jehan's astonishment.

Kneeling down and taking the haversack from his shoulder, Jehan began to remove from it fine silver, small purses that jingled with coins, and other treasures while Quasimodo looked on with inquisitiveness. Eyeing the book, the boy asked the distracted Jehan, "What book is that?"

Jehan glanced back at him, a frantic look in his blue eyes. "Never mind that! It's top secret, so don't go snooping around with it."

Quasimodo shrunk back, nodding his head, afraid to inquire further about the mysterious text. He then asked, "If these people you're hiding from want to steal from you, why don't you just ask your brother for help?"

Jehan scoffed as he inspected the items he arranged on the floor. "Please, if I went to him for help on this, he'd never let me hear the end of it."

"But he's Minister of Justice, right? He'll just throw your friends in prison and you'll be safe."

Jehan chuckled nervously. "It'd really be best if we don't tell him anything about my situation—_Not because I'm afraid of him or anything_—it's just…we really shouldn't trouble him with this little issue that I can resolve with my friends. And in case you haven't noticed, Claude has a tendency to fly off the handle about things, even when a problem isn't as bad as it seems. Just don't tell him anything!"

Quasimodo timidly nodded his head, Jehan standing up and looking inside the bag, counting the number of items left in. "This should be enough," he muttered, folding the flap over and hiding the sack's contents. "Not a word to my brother, right? And keep that book safe!"

The boy glanced at the mysterious book lying adjacent to the rest of Jehan's contraband. "But what if he does ask—what if he finds this stuff, Jehan?" Quasimodo asked, gesturing to the arrangement of loot inside the broom closet.

Brushing his curls back, Jehan sighed then answered, "Think like me, Quasi. Push comes to shove, what magic three-word phrase would I use on Claude? One that's sure to take his attention away from the matter at hand?"

The boy shrugged his uneven shoulders. "Um…_'I need money'_?"

"Don't be cheeky. No," Jehan deadpanned with an unamused frown. "Just say, _'I don't know'_. The less you know, the safer you are."

Hands shakily clutching at his face, Quasimodo agitatedly responded, "But I _do_ know! And now I'm _lying_ to him!"

With a swing of his arm, Jehan shut the broom closet door, ignoring the hunchback's anxiety. "Out of sight, out of mind—it's that simple. Just do as I say and you'll be fine. You know, someday you're going to have to learn how to stop listening to every word my brother tells you. Now, I have to go sort out some business in town and I'll be back later, probably tomorrow. Remember what I said—I'm counting on you!" With that, Jehan quickly scampered off, leaving Quasimodo in silent solitude.

Fighting the urge to take a peek at the mysterious book, his mind riddled with questions, Quasimodo reminded himself that there were cells to be swept.

X

"Well Maimonides says that one can find contentment _without_ the presence of God—one only has to set _limits_ for themselves!" A portly red-faced magistrate in bright gold and teal barked.

"Do you not recall the words of Thomas Aquinas?" Frollo protested, surrounded by his peers and arguing over the words of theologians, mystics, and other revered names in one of the University's great halls. The next day could not come quick enough, the Minister eager to speak with his old associates. The previous evening was properly fueled with speak of each other's cities and accomplishments, drinks provided by the Bishop. Frollo received praise for his recent efforts against the gypsies from other envious magistrates.

"Without proper religion, one falls to the basest desires, and, therefore, will _never_ truly be happy in life," the Minister bit back. "Aquinas wrote that carnal pleasures could _never_ substitute for the love of God! It's as if you've never even read his work!"

"One cannot rely on faith alone—even Rashi wrote that it only takes enough willpower to overcome temptation! He wrote that holiness is derived from libidinous discipline, and that the most difficult temptation to control is caused by the greatest sin. Unlike Ramban, who believed all sins are equal."

"Which is just ridiculous!" Frollo retorted, waving a ringed hand. "Aquinas went into great detail in defining the weight of sins—therefore, all sins are _not_ equal."

Despite the intense and impassioned debates he found himself in, Frollo had not felt so alive and content in such a long time. To be discussing such fascinating subjects with others was like a breath of fresh air. No gypsies to be cleared from the streets, no whining brother asking for help, no exaggerated caricatures of him drawn on building walls in charcoal.

In this great hall, surrounded by men of high esteem, away from the pressures of Paris…_it was quite vitalizing._

Frollo heatedly continued, "But what he wrote that is _most_ interesting is-"

"Enough God-talk, Frollo!" A voice boomed, a large judge dressed in red clapping him on the back. "Why not something from days past, say…_alchemy?_ I hear you're quite familiar with the subject!"

The surrounding magistrates laughed, nodding and chattering in agreement. Forcing a jocular smile, Frollo absolutely hated when others brought up his past dabbling in alchemy—the subject being one of the few areas from which he yielded no success.

Gritting his teeth at their inquisitiveness and prodding, Frollo stiffly replied to the man, "A word of advice, Basile: after over twenty years, a joke can become very exhausted and is no longer funny. Besides, are we simply going to ignore that King Henry was possibly _murdered?_ And by orders of his own son."

"That country is run by over-ambitious tyrants!" said one judge. "They can't decide who should rule their people, yet they have the time to war with France for well over a century!"

"Thank God for Charles and Louis or we'd be English colonies right about now," said another.

Frollo felt relief that his abrupt discussion of politics could avert the embarrassing topic of his alchemic background. Besides, condemning the English Crown always seemed to bring bureaucrats together, the magistrates continuing to discuss the historic bitterness between the two countries.

"We are a resilient country," Frollo stated lightheartedly. "I firmly believe that our good King will be able to take Calais back from the English in due time."

"On another note, Claude," one round, red-faced judge broke. "How is your brother? I recall the last time I was in Paris, you had your hands tied because of him. Remember the mess he made because he was found in Catherine Messier's bedchambers? Her husband wanted to put you _both_ in the ground!"

The laughter of his peers ridiculing him enraged the judge, who could not lose his temper at the risk of bruising his image. Clearing his throat, he collected himself, trying to keep from lashing out. "As a matter of fact, Jehan is finding his way. I ordered him to stop his childish nature and mature, and he has taken my advice to heart. Now he has found employment in the city and does not bother me for an allowance as he did before. I have faith that he is finally learning how to be a responsible adult and put his trouble-making ways behind him."

X

"_Bad news: you have to hide me!" _

Quasimodo looked down to the moonlit loft where he could barely make out the silhouette of a fidgety Jehan pressing the stairwell door shut.

"What happened?" Quasimodo asked, leaping down from one of the rafters.

"It turns out, my "friends" are a little more pissed off than I thought," Jehan answered, barricading the bell tower door shut with a nearby barrel. "They're waiting outside the church right now, so I'm going to have to hide here until they leave. Shouldn't be more than an hour—that's no trouble, is it, Quasi?"

"Umm…No, it's fine," the boy answered. "But the evening bells will be ringing soon."

Jehan waved his hand. "Ah, they don't bother me. What's there to drink around here?" The young man brushed past Quasimodo and treaded up the wooden steps to the boy's loft. Instinctively, Jehan began raiding the beaten wooden cabinet, emerging with a smooth green bottle. "Ha! So _here's_ where Claude keeps the good stuff!" The curly-haired young man then took a hearty swig from the bottle.

Without warning, the loft rung with the heavy tolls from the bells above, Jehan and the boy swiftly covering their ears. When the resonation finally died down, Jehan crudely remarked, "Jesus, how do you live with that?!"

Before Quasimodo could stutter out his answer, Jehan quickly responded, "Never mind. You know, I've always wondered, Quasi, who rings the bells?"

Quasimodo's eyes instinctively traveled upwards towards the bells. "His name is Igor," he answered. "He lives in the other tower and doesn't like to be bothered. Master says when he first brought me here, Igor moved out of the south tower to the north. Master says he's a _hermit_."

"Hmm." Jehan chewed on the information, looking around the dark little nest. "My brother's kind of mental for sticking you in here, but who am I say? I should go downstairs soon and check if my "friends" are still out there."

"Wait!" Quasimodo grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Can…can you stay here tonight, Jehan?"

Jehan whipped around, stunned by the question. "Really? You're always up here by yourself—what do you need me for?"

Quasimodo's eyes darted away, shrugging. "I…I miss my master. I miss talking to him."

Jehan laughed a little in disbelief. "Who'd miss _that?_"

"I know you don't get along," Quasimodo reflected. "But he's the one who raised me, and teaches me, and isn't afraid of me like other people would be. So I miss him."

Jehan looked at the sincerity in the boy's misshapen face, biting back any sarcastic comments about his brother and understanding. True, he could safely return to his lodging in about an hour or so, the thugs outside would grow bored anyway…but Jehan could not help but feel pity towards his adopted nephew. Rubbing his chin and examining the dark vast space above his head where the bells were hidden in blackness, he sighed. Reluctantly, he replied, "Alright. If you want me to, I'll hang around here tonight."

Quasimodo gave him a small but grateful smile. Stepping towards him, he beamed, "Great! You'll get used to the other bells—just cover your ears."

Looking back at the shadows above, Jehan wrinkled his nose remembering the dreaded sound. "Fine, sure. Umm…where will I sleep?"

Quasimodo waved him forward, leading him to a few barrels near his own sleeping quarters, grabbing a few blankets that the Archdeacon left folded on top in case of a bitter cold night. Handing them to Jehan, the boy answered, "Anywhere, really."

Jehan shrugged, walking across the way and setting up under a few broken statues and gargoyles. Laying back, hands locked under his head, he commented, "I've slept in worse."

"Like what?" Quasimodo asked, covering himself in his blankets and looking over at Jehan.

Jehan chuckled. "I can't tell you the number of times Claude kicked me awake because I fell asleep in an alley on the way out of La Falourdel's or some other God-forsaken tavern. Nothing better than waking up in a pile of rotten cabbages with your brother screaming at you to get up!"

Wrapping his arms around his knees, Quasimodo looked down at the dusty floor before him before looking back across to Jehan. "Has…has he always been like that? He doesn't laugh, and he barely smiles—he's always so serious."

"Yeah, miserable bastard, my big brother," Jehan laughed, Quasimodo not liking his colorful language. "My whole life he's always been a bit of a stick in the mud. He's not one for gambling, drinking, or anything fun—it's work, work, work with him. But that's what Frollo men do—from what I've gathered—we either dedicate ourselves to work, or other things we love."

"So he loves his work?" the boy surmised.

Jehan looked over at the boy, his contemplative expression concealed by the darkness. "I guess…to tell you the truth, Quasi, I don't know if Claude has ever really loved anything or anyone—I mean, the man thinks he's above everyone like he's King David. And he doesn't tell me anything about his life, so it's anyone's guess where his hang-ups come from."

Quasimodo chewed on this information for a moment. "Do you ever ask him?"

Jehan's eyebrows rose. "Ask him about what?"

"About his life. He told me your parents died when you were little—do you ever ask him about your family?" Quasimodo could just barely remember asking the Minister the parts of a family at four years old when the man began reading the Bible to him.

Jehan glanced over at the boy's hunchbacked silhouette, blinking at the boy's inquisitiveness, taken aback greatly by his question. "Well…no, not really. I never…really asked. I guess I never really cared because Claude or someone else has always been the one taking care of me, and it didn't seem important to ask about some dead family members. And I have the feeling that asking him about that stuff might open up Pandora's Box. But I guess, in a strange, _twisted_ way…maybe Claude does have a heart and cares about some people and he just doesn't like showing it. Maybe there's a chance he's not just made of stone like we think he is and his heart's only buried under a lot of marble and pessimism."

Quasimodo could see his master's stoic countenance in his mind, his protective nature of his brother striking him in particular. Always having money for Jehan, vowing to keep the city safe from criminals, and shielding the boy from the cruelty of the outside world. "So he really does care about us?"

"I think so," Jehan answered confidently. "Claude may be an angry, stone-cold tyrant, but I think deep down he gives a damn about the both of us. But if you ask me, he needs a woman!"

Quasimodo was surprised by Jehan's sentiment, especially in contrast to the young man's usually crass nature. Maybe under his cold, collected demeanor, the Minister did love his family…

"So how do you think he's doing at that meeting thing he's at?" Quasimodo asked, changing the tune of their conversation.

"His symposium? He's told me about those things: it's a bunch of old men sitting around talking about law and philosophy and all that other jargon," Jehan remarked sardonically. "I know Claude's a bit of a wet blanket, but I'm sure even he's probably bored to tears surrounded by nothing but bureaucrats right now."

X

"…so the second nun tells the priest, _'I got into a fight with another nun'_. The priest blessed her and told her to go drink some holy water," one bald minister told, as the night had been filled with blue humored jokes and anecdotes. "The third nun laughed harder than anyone else; and the priest asked her what her sin was…she tells the priest, _'I pissed in__ the holy water!'_"

The sitting room occupied with magistrates filled with boisterous laughter at such a tale. The day's academic conference had concluded hours ago as dusk approached and the Bishop's guests were returned to his palace, where they kept their discussions alive and fueled by wine. Frollo sat in the circle of cushioned chairs with his peers, refraining from drinking at the rate of his peers and keeping his wits sharp as he listened to their words. Even he could not help but occasionally chuckle at a few less than respectable tales told by some men. It was certainly better than staying in the suffocating bubble that was Paris, only spending his downtime with the boy or his brother.

"I have one!" One judge with long pointed nose and lanky hair piped up. "There was a man who went from being a deacon to working at the royal treasury, but he was a corrupt man: he was stealing sheep that belonged to the church of Saint Julian—_essentially stealing from a dead saint!_ And the shepherds notice that the sheep have gone missing, thinking that Julian's ghost is eating them. And one day, the deacon-banker takes a bad fall in front of Julian's tomb and couldn't get back up on his feet. When his servants found him lying there, they ask, _'What are you doing on the ground? __You never take this long to pray?'__"_

The men erupted in red-faced laughter, Frollo shaking his head that such blasphemy could still be quite humorous. How surprising that aside from the hours' worth of discussion, the usually-tense judge could find himself relaxed even with these off-colored stories.

The balding judge looked to Frollo and said, "What about you, Claude? You've been silent almost the whole night—_very unlike you!_ Care to jump in? I'm sure even you have a tale that could match anything said tonight."

"Not particularly," Frollo evenly answered, taking a drink from the cup at hand. His fellow judges groaned at his stoic nature, especially proving earlier that he was as sharp as ever in an academic debate.

"Well we've already spent the day talking about your areas of expertise," the barrel-chested judge in red, Basile, retorted. "Put aside everything about law and theology for once and see if you can talk about something else!"

Eyes of his fellow magistrates on him, Frollo looked down at his cup of wine. "Very well, if you insist," he said, his mind deciding on a _less sacrilegious_ approach, given that he had heard enough stories from his men and his brother. Placing the glass on the small table on his side, he sat up straight and spoke. "There is a man on his deathbed, surrounded by his wife and four children. Three of them are strong, healthy, what have you…but the youngest is the runt, of sorts. _'Wife,'_ the man says to the woman. _'Assure me that the youngest child really is mine. I want to know the truth before I die, and I will forgive you…'_ His wife says, _'Of course he is. I swear on my mother's grave that you are his father.' _After she says this, the man dies happy that she told him. After he passes, the wife says to herself,_ 'Thank goodness he didn't ask about the other three'_."

The Minister's story was met with approving laughter, a grin touching his thin lips, happy that his obligations were not plaguing his mind for once.

"I knew you had a sense of humor, Claude!" the bald judge commented, leaning over and patting Frollo on the back. "It's just hidded under all that cynicism!"

While his peers laughed, Frollo looked out one of the room's windows and noticing how late it had become. "Well, gentlemen, it has been an invigorating day of discussion, but I should be retiring for the night, seeing as there is another day for such conversation."

"Hold it!" Basile stopped him. "We've been telling these stories all night and catching up, yet _you've_ barely said a word. Some of us haven't seen you in ages, Claude, so why don't you tell us more about how you've been keeping Paris in check?"

The other men nodded their heads, Frollo knowing that he was cornered now and it would be pointless to try and leave now. "Well," he began calmly. "What is there to tell? I do everything in my power to expunge any evil that tries to root itself in my city, just as you all do with your respective homes." Nervously but trying to remain impassive, Frollo reached again for his glass, sipping the wine and hoping that would be enough to appease his fellow learned men.

The lanky-haired minister suddenly spoke up. "What's this we heard about you having a son now?"

Frollo coughed, nearly choking on his drink, eyes widening at such an inquiry. Shakily taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his mouth, he asked, "How…how did you happen upon _that_ information?" He had tried so ardently to keep from the whole of Paris from discovering his guardianship of Quasimodo—but if his fellow bureaucrats learned of this, there was no concealing the truth any longer.

The same inquisitive judge answered, "Apparently Louis told one of his advisors, who told some of the proctors, who told a few ministers…you know how news can travel, Claude."

"Is it true that it looks nothing like a child, but something reptilian?" the bald judge pried curiously. "I heard it could easily pass for a cathedral gargoyle!"

"_Enough!"_ Frollo ordered, his deep voice silencing the room of judges. "It seems rather pointless to try and hide the truth any longer, so I will tell you…Yes, I did adopt a child—a _deformed_ one at that—only to serve as penance of sorts. Penance for what—the details are not important. But I have had him baptized and have vowed to raise him as a son."

For a moment, the sitting room was dead quiet, only the sound of crackling firewood filling the atmosphere. Frollo waited uneasily for someone to speak, having nothing more to say himself, locking his fingers before him and listening to the silence, his heart hammering in his chest.

Abruptly, the big-chested judge in red remarked, "You should have just sent the boy to a monastery—give them a few guilders and they'll start cutting his hair into a tonsure before he's even in the door! Believe me, Claude, I've got three bastard sons—all of them sent away to live with monks."

"I've sent away two boys to the Church and a girl to the nunnery," the bald one commented.

"Three to the monastery, two to nunnery," the lanky-haired, long-nosed one interjected.

Frollo studied the placid expressions they bore, even at admitting the deeds stemmed from their licentiousness, a sense of disgust filling him. "My self-imposed penance would not cease at sending the boy away," he curtly clipped. "I may not have wanted to care for him, but I have my responsibility and I intend to complete the task given to me."

Stricken silent by Frollo's words of denouncement, once again the room was silent, almost in shame. Frollo rose from his seat, smoothing out his robes. "As I have stated before: it's been a rewarding day of stimulating discussion, but it is quite late. Gentlemen." Giving a small nod, Frollo took the opportunity and left his fellow magistrates, stepping into the corridor and striding towards his chambers.

Absent-mindedly brushing back his hair, Frollo wondered how Quasimodo was faring without him there. Hopefully Father Augustin was keeping his end of the bargain and checking in on the boy to see that he was not up to any trouble. _Speaking of trouble,_ he thought. _Jehan is the one you should be worrying about. _If there was any hope, the young man was not stirring up any problems in his absence and his "job" was keeping him busy.

_And the gypsies…_he mused, unlocking the door and entering his chambers. Removing his judicial robes, he continued to think. _The Captain will keep them alive until you return—then you may resume cleansing the city of them…_After all, the Captain was trustworthy enough, despite his numerous protests against the Minister's policies against them. He was an able soldier and impressive leader.

X

With a loud _clank_ the iron-barred door swung open, its swarthy tired occupants cowering together in the farthest corner, darkness surrounding them. They expected a horde of the Minister's soldiers telling them that their trials awaited, but were surprised that instead it was only one soldier.

Shadows concealing the tall brawny soldier, key in hand, his familiar voice commanded, "Follow me. There's another entryway in the back of the Palace past the stables—I'll help you escape through there, but you have to stay close and _quiet!_"

X

The sound of the morning bells resonating for the city to hear, Quasimodo quickly sat up and covered his ears. Once they stopped ringing, the hunchback looked over towards the broken statues across the way from him, Jehan absent. He glanced around, only silence as he listened and searched for any sign of the younger Frollo.

Getting up, the boy routinely washed his face at the nearby water basin and fixed his red hair using the water's reflection as a mirror. Lumbering towards one of the grimacing gargoyles, Quasimodo asked his stone friend, "Did you see where Jehan went?"

Silence continued to pervade the bell tower, not unfamiliar to the boy. "Maybe it was finally safe for him to go out," Quasimodo mused. Turning to another one of his stone figures he said, "I hope he's alright—he seemed really afraid to go see his friends yesterday."

Looking around to the motionless statue pieces and broken gargoyles, Quasimodo chirped, "I'm going to go downstairs and see if Father Augustin needs any help."

After hopping down the spiral staircase, Quasimodo was welcome by the cool air in the church's nave, stopping suddenly when he saw something in front of the doors. Squinting and focusing his ill-matched eyes, Quasimodo could see a mop of curly blond hair peering through one of the church's door opened just enough to let in a smidgen of sunlight.

Tiptoeing towards the unaware Jehan who sat crouched, peering through the barely ajar door, Quasimodo looked over the man's riotous curls and trying to see what he staring out to. "What are we looking at?" the boy suddenly asked.

A startled Jehan jumped at the boy's voice, quickly shutting the door and pressing a finger to his lips. Standing up and opening the church door again just slightly, Jehan's blue eyes looked out into the square again, his actions confusing Quasimodo. "I'm just checking to see if my "friends" are still out there waiting for me," he quickly explained, pushing the boy away from the doors. Jehan sighed, eyes wandering over the large atmosphere of the empty nave and aimlessly sauntering through. "Damn…I guess I'm stuck here until Claude gets back from Orleans. I doubt he'll be thrilled when I tell him that I have a few more people who want to do away with me."

"At least you can claim sanctuary," Quasimodo piped up, teal eyes darting over the black and white tiled floor before following Jehan who turned to amble back up the stairwell.

Jehan laughed. "Yeah, I remember when I was twelve and broke a window from Doctor Aveline's house," he mused as he and the boy winded up to the bell tower. "As soon as Claude found out, I made a beeline for Notre Dame screaming, _'Sanctuary!'_ Imagine my disappointment when he burst through the door and dragged me out of the church, telling me that when I claim sanctuary it doesn't count!"

Quasimodo found no difficulty picturing the young man being yelled at by his perpetually-irked brother. Upon reaching the bell tower, Jehan instantly dropped himself down on one of the wooden benches, a sullen expression adorning his face.

"I'm going outside," Quasimodo said, lumbering out into the sunlight. Jehan craned his neck, curiously following the boy, who climbed onto a parapet and dropped down.

"Quasimodo!" Jehan cried, leaping to his feet and rushing outside. Gripping the ledge, he looked down, stunned to see the misshapen boy nonchalantly hanging by one hand onto a water spout. "What…What are you doing?!" he asked the boy, who nimbly climbed back up over the ledge.

"I learned how to climb the rafters, so I'm learning how to climb the cathedral walls," the boy answered, eyes wandering over the cityscape. "Master doesn't mind. He just doesn't want me to get hurt."

"You're kidding, really?" Jehan asked, interested.

"It's true!" Quasimodo grinned. "Watch this!" The boy leaped back over the ledge, Jehan watching intently as the boy dropped and climbed down, landing before the trio of sculptures and ornate round window below. "See? It's easy!" Quasimodo called, looking up at his adopted uncle.

When the boy climbed back up to Jehan, the young man cast an astonished look at the boy. "Well I'll be damned! I'm impressed, Quasi. Soon all of Paris is going to see you climbing around like a monkey."

Walking back inside, Quasimodo spoke up, "You never told me: why are you afraid of going outside to see your friends?"

"Uh, it's complicated," Jehan answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "But if you really want to know…they want to "talk" to me over some money issues—remember, it's nothing you need to go telling my brother about."

"Maybe you can talk to them," Quasimodo suggested. "That's what the Archdeacon says—to talk problems through instead of violence. Have you tried that?"

Jehan snorted at this. "Let's just say that we're beyond talking things through," he darkly replied. "At this point, all the only way they might want to talk is with their fists."

"Do you remember the story of David and Goliath?" Quasimodo asked, Jehan stopping and looking down at the misshapen boy. "He was smaller and not as powerful, but he took a few stones and defeated Goliath the giant."

"So you think I should try to be David and take the risk?" Jehan asked, half-jesting, trying to contain his laughter. "Even if it means getting beaten to a pulp?"

Shrugging his small lopsided shoulders, he replied, "You could try, or wait for the Master to come back and help you."

A revelation suddenly struck Jehan: If he stayed marooned here in Notre Dame, Claude would no doubt find out about his operation…_something he would rather avoid._ If Jehan could reason with his "friends," then maybe, just maybe, he could keep from this issue escalating even further—the last thing he wanted was Claude getting involved in his business…_and what a business it was…_

"You know what? You're right!" Jehan told the boy, inside dreading the harsh reality of his situation, a false smile etching over his face.

Quasimodo beamed, someone taking his words into consideration for the first time in his young life. "I…I am?" he asked, his good eye widening.

"Yeah, of course," Jehan coolly replied, placing a hand on the boy's hunch. "What can I say—you're a bright boy and you've inspired me to take responsibility into my own hands. Besides, Claude doesn't deserve to get mixed up in my affairs, right? So I'll go and sort things out, and we won't tell my brother about this little mess, will we?"

Quasimodo smiled and shook his head. Giving the boy a thumb's up, Jehan brushed past him and headed towards the wooden steps. "Smart boy! I should go nip this thing in the bud before things get _really_ bad. Besides, Claude's coming back soon, and you want to make sure everything's spick and span, right?"

Quasimodo nodded, Jehan marching down the stairs. Shutting the stairwell door behind him, his fake smile instantly faded. Running a hand over the length of his face, the young man muttered under his breath, "Dammit…"

Trudging back through the nave with his heart thrumming speedily in his heart, Jehan pushed through the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the sunlight. A few steps into the bustling square, he glanced around, searching for any traces of his associates. Suddenly, he felt his thin arms enclosed, himself being dragged away.

"Miss us?" Jehan looked up to a large warty-faced man, his other arm locked by a tall, square-jawed one.

Jehan laughed timidly, feet threatening to trip as they swiftly pulled him along. "Hey, boys! I was just coming to look for you! Um…how much did you say I owe you?"

X

_Back into the cesspool that we call home,_ Frollo reflected as his coach rolled through the gates of Paris, his soldiers welcoming him back dutifully.

He stepped out of the vehicle before the Palace, eyes narrowing when he saw a familiar-looking curly-haired young man marching down the steps. Satchel on his shoulder and book in hand, Frollo quickly asked, "What are you doing here?"

Jehan looked at his brother, walking down the last step. "Claude, nice to see you too. I was just checking to see if you were back yet." Jehan averted his blue-eyed gaze from his brother, turning his head aside.

Frollo raised an eyebrow at the boy's strange manner. Grabbing Jehan by the jaw and turning his face to the side, the judge's eyes widened: Jehan's once-cherubic countenance was sporting a bruise around his left eye. Rolling his own eyes, Frollo coldly asked, "What happened?" releasing the boy's jaw from his firm grip.

"Um…tavern fight. You know what happens after a few drinks," Jehan lied, hollowly chuckling. "How was the trip? And what's that?" he asked, pointing to the book in his brother's hand.

"The symposium was just fine, refreshing actually. Overall quite enjoyable until Minister Chaucer suggested inviting a few strumpets into the Bishop's home, so he won't be attending any future academic events. And _this,_" Frollo showed him the black-covered book, entitled _Liber Diversarum Arcium_. "This is for Quasimodo. I picked this is up for him during my time there. I figure the boy might enjoy learning something creative to pass the time—after all, _'Idle hands are the Devil's workshop'_. Anyway, I should look in on the Captain's reports, but I trust the city was no trouble in my absence."

After bidding goodbye to his brother and pushing through the Palace doors, Frollo breathed in the familiar scent of his abode of stone walls, happy to be back in his sanctuary. Though mentally exhausted from the symposium, the judge knew there was work to be done and to take time to unwind would be most counterproductive. Upon entering his study, Frollo gazed out the window to the face of Notre Dame staring back at him. Touching the stone wall, he wondered how Quasimodo had fared without him in the few days he was gone, promising himself that he would go to visit his ward later in the day.

Placing his hat on his desk and taking a seat, Frollo rubbed his tired eyes once he saw the reports filed over the days. Automatically he skimmed through the numerous accounts of thefts, disputes, fights and what not. One parchment piece seized his attention, brows furrowing in surprise by what he read: …_mass exodus of Romani persons_…At least over a hundred Roma had fled Paris during the time he had been away, slightly disheartening the Minister as he would have enjoyed being the one to do so.

_Speaking of gypsies,_ he thought. He had a whole dungeon packed with them, meaning there were trials and executions to be arranged at the earliest. _Best to see how many are to be dealt with_. He would need a headcount and the rest of the day would probably be confined to the courtroom. Rising from his seat, Frollo decided it would best to seek out the Captain and inquire about this large gypsy flight.

Strangely, Frollo had not seen Captain Gerard since arriving back in Paris; usually he would have been standing in the Minister's study, summarizing the state of the city. Striding through the corridor, Frollo stopped two guards making their rounds, feeling something was amiss.

"Do either of you know the whereabouts of the Captain?" Frollo asked firmly, hands locking behind his back.

The two exchanged unsure glances before one answered, "We haven't seen him today, Minister. He's probably out making his rounds."

"What exceptional work this is," the judge caustically remarked. "It is assuring to know that my men are on top of such things—such as knowing where their leaders are." Waving them away, Frollo thought that perhaps this now-elusive Captain could be found in the dungeons.

Unlocking the dungeon door, Frollo stopped and listened. He was not greeted by the echoing sound of tired and pained groans and cries. Striding deeper into the belly of the Palace, Frollo turned towards the first cell…

"_What?!"_ he cried, gray eyes widening. The cell, once occupied by some fifteen gypsies, was now _empty! _Rushing down the corridors, he was horrified that every cell that once contained a mass of them was empty. Anger bubbled up inside him—it was though every gypsy had vanished!

"Lieutenant!" His voice boomed, a bumbling soldier rushing to his commander at the ready.

"Sir?" The man asked, trembling under his armor upon seeing the rage twisting the judge's face.

"Explain to me why that when I left Paris, there were near a hundred gypsies lining these cells, and in the blink of an eye, they've disappeared?!"

"Umm, Minister…" the soldier stammered. "You gave Captain Gerard complete control while you were gone. A few days ago, he told us all to clear out of the Palace and said that you'd have us punished for insubordination—he was the only one here. And he gave us orders to stay out of the dungeons."

"And where is he now?" Frollo icily asked, his breathing labored, a vein bulging in his temple.

"I…I think the Captain skipped town—nobody's seen him since that night!"

"You are telling me that my Captain of the Guard released _every_ gypsy here, and then fled Paris?" Frollo asked in a low voice, his fists shaking at his sides.

"I-I think so, Minister."

Without warning, Frollo's chest tightened and he could only hear a loud ringing in his ears. Fingers yanking at his gray hair, a resonating and harrowing cry escaped from the top of his lungs, resounding throughout the empty dungeons.

***A/n: (I swear to god, I better get some reviews for this long-ass chapter!) I know this is the lengthiest chapter I've done so far but I hope it was acceptable. As you can see I rely on the Gilligan cut trope a lot cause it's funny. _Liber Diversarum Arcium _is a real book on painting cause Quasi needed to start somewhere. And I think we needed more Quasi and Jehan moments.**

**Weird fact: the yellow (Mirabelle) plums here (like in the movie Perfume), turns out they're actually illegal here in the States, go figure.**

**It might be awhile before this story picks up again-idk-cause I'm kinda at an impasse right now. So if there's anything you might wanna see, review or PM me! And I'm move along and rewrite "Little Boy" cause I really need to. ****Read and review! Comments are always appreciated!**


	22. Burning a Candle at Both Ends

The months rolled by and the Minister found that any attempts to locate the former Captain were utterly fruitless. Out of ferocious anger, Frollo ordered just about every soldier who was on duty that faithful night to be lashed as punishment. Over the months, he went through more changes in Captain of the Guard than any of Minister of Justice in the last century, many he had found it to be utterly inept and not up to par at as leader. He had spent many a day pounding his fist against his desk at numerous reports on temporary captains' shortcomings, refusing to stand for any negligence of the city's safety.

After a few letters to numerous ministers and magistrates, the judge had finally found a replacement for the once revered Captain Gerard: a brutal man with a booming voice and shared hatred of gypsies, Captain Alexandre Leroux. A man heavily scarred across the face and with a taste for the blood, and whose combat record included English defeats at the battles at Bordeaux and Castillon. The knowledge that a man so seasoned by war now led his soldiers offered some comfort to the high-strung Minister.

Winter had arrived and he was glad to be rid of such a turbulent year. Luckily for the people of Paris, there was no snow, only the chilling cold. Riding through the city, there were scratched voices and harsh coughs around every corner. At least Quasimodo was not around such a suffering crowd to be exposed to the winter bug.

X

"And let us remember that Advent is a time of not only fasting and repentance, but also one of charity," the Archdeacon preached over the shivering congregation gathered for Sunday morning Mass. "And while the virtue of charity goes unheeded by many throughout the year, I pray that many will bring themselves to practice it more tangibly as we celebrate the birth of Christ, Our Lord."

Frollo kept his near frozen hands folded in his lap as he listened to the man drone on. Like many others, he found himself more irritable during this time of year with the traditional fasting rearing its head.

"Amen," he muttered in synch with the rest of Notre Dame's worshippers when the day's Mass finally came to a close. While the rest of the citizens filed out of the cathedral, eager to get back to their own homes and warm themselves by their hearths, the Minister waited until the place had been cleared.

Standing up and smoothing out his black robe, Frollo made headway towards the bell tower staircase, but not before stopping at the church's wooden alms box. From his coin purse he took a few deniers and dropped them into the container before heading towards the spiral staircase.

Up in the bell tower, Frollo folded his arms across his chest remembering how much colder it was up there. The boy was staring down at the cold lackadaisical city through the stone balustrades, nonchalantly braving the biting winter wind.

"Quasimodo," Frollo greeted, the chilly air allowing him to see his breath when he spoke. The boy looked over his shoulder. "Come along. This time of year, you might as well learn some history about this cathedral." The judge figured that he might as well take the opportunity to use the empty space to teach the boy.

Getting to his feet, Quasimodo wordlessly approached his master, but without the usual bounce in his step. The hunchbacked boy sniffled, wiping his nose into his shirt sleeve, the Minister curling his lip at the action.

Trudging down the bell tower steps, Frollo spoke. "Notre Dame has a long rich history, Quasimodo—one story after another dwelling among these stone walls. Of some of its more _violent_ history, one particularly interesting event was the wolves of Paris incident. Are you familiar with the tale?" Looking over his shoulder, the sullen boy slowly trailed behind him, shaking his head in response.

Ignoring the strange silence emitted by his ward, Frollo carried on. "It was the winter of 1450, and a bitter one at that. The forests on the outskirts of the city were depleted of prey, and as a result, a horde of wolves had found their way into Paris.

"The story goes that the pack had breached the dilapidated walls of the city, and once they did, they managed to kill at least _forty_ citizens. Astounding, to say the least, considering that the people even graced the pack's leader with the name "Courtaud" –legend telling us the leader was missing part of its tail, or something of the sort.

"Anyhow, the group of brave souls managed to lure the pack into the square of the city—_in front of Notre Dame herself_. And how did they eradicate the nuisance of such beasts you might ask?"

Quasimodo's expression was tired, as though he was not even there, barely listening. He merely stared back at his master as his answer as they strolled through the frigid empty nave, lumbering on as if he were half-asleep.

"The citizens greeted them by raining spears and stones on them," Frollo replied, his icy fingers locking together before him as he marched on. "But this church has seen darker times as well."

As the Minister proceeded in telling the history of the English occupation of France, Quasimodo's motion became even more sluggard as he followed his master through the church, arms hanging limply by his side, blue eyes glazing over the black and white tiled floor.

"…after a crushing defeat, Paris was captured by England," Frollo droned on, granite eyes taking in the windows of holy figures in reverance. "December 1431, almost forty years to the day, Henry VI declared himself King of France in this very cathedral—humiliating and _sickening_ to say the least. But at least under King Charles VII, we were able to free ourselves from English rule, which has rewarded him with the appropriate nickname of Charles "the Victorious"_._"

Frollo looked down to the lumbering hunchbacked boy at his side, who was much slower in his usual gait. Quasimodo had been utterly silent as the Minister gave his lengthy history lesson. "Dear boy," Frollo began, pausing for a moment and raising an eyebrow at him. "You seem quite lethargic today. Have you been getting enough rest?"

Quasimodo roughly coughed into the crook of his elbow before looking up at his guardian, his face flushed red. "Master, I don't feel well," the boy tiredly stated, his eyes glassy.

Brushing back some red hair from his face, Frollo pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, surprised by the intensity of heat radiating from the boy's face. "A fever—dear Lord, it might be the influenza as well. Come, best you rest now and try to keep this illness from worsening."

Coughing violently into his sleeve, Quasimodo was steered out of the nave and towards the spiral stairwell. Frollo gently pushed him along up the steps until the boy suddenly halted in the middle of the staircase, his bowed legs buckling under him and holding himself up on shaking arms.

"What is it?" Frollo asked concerned, bending down to try and help him up.

Coughing again and clutching at his stomach, Quasimodo muttered wearily, "Everything hurts." With a sudden wheeze, the boy collapsed.

"Quasimodo!" Frollo cried, bending down and inspecting the boy's empty half-lidded expression. He sat the boy up, Quasimodo going limp in the judge's grasp. Thinking quickly, the Minister lifted the boy up and hoisted him onto his shoulder. With a grunt, Frollo vigilantly carried the boy up the spiral staircase and up to the bell tower.

Frollo carefully placed the boy down on his sleeping mat. He scrutinized the boy's fatigued misshapen face, which was miserable to look up, the illness eating away at him. Standing up, Frollo uttered, "I am going to get help, my boy—don't worry!"

Black robe and red sash whipping behind him, Frollo rushed out of the bell tower and back down the stairs. Gliding through the corridors, he stopped before the door of the Archdeacon's study, harshly banging on the wooden door.

"Frollo, what's the matter?" Father Augustin greeted, opening the door to a shaken Minister of Justice.

"Quasimodo has fallen ill," he quickly answered. "I need clean cold water immediately. He has a high fever along with influenza—how in God's name could he even catch something like this?!"

"Don't worry, Claude," the Archdeacon reassured, leading the judge down the corridor. "We will do everything in our power to help him!"

The two men made their way to the church's kitchens where various monks and nuns were busy preparing meals for the weekly alms. Augustin handed Frollo various supplies: a wooden bucket, linen rag, wine bottle, and wooden cup. Glancing at the bucket in his hand, Frollo asked, "Why the need for this?"

"You said the boy was running the flu; trust me, Claude, you _will_ need it," the Archdeacon answered. "I will take the water upstairs for you."

Frollo nodded, suddenly hearing a rough airy cough behind. Craning his neck around, he narrowed his eyes at a nearby monk coughing harshly into his elbow, the sound very reminiscent of Quasimodo.

"Go back to the bell tower and check on Quasimodo, I will be there with the water shortly," the Archdeacon said, Frollo taking his leave instantly.

Back in the bell tower, Frollo rushed to the boy's side, who looked as though he hadn't moved at all. Snapping his fingers in front of the boy's face, he asked, "Quasimodo, can you hear me?"

Had it not been for the rising and falling of the boy's curved back, the judge would have assumed he was dead. Feeling his forehead again, it felt as if Quasimodo's temperature had risen, burning the Minister's hand.

"_Claude!"_ Frollo whipped his attention back, seeing the Archdeacon enter the boy's loft with a cauldron. "Here you are," he said, placing it next to the Minister. Filling the wooden cup with enough water, Frollo then poured some of the wine in before setting it aside. Soaking the linen rag in the cauldron, he then pressed it to Quasimodo's forehead, whose face was now red as a beet.

"I should procure some supplies from the apothecary," Frollo suggested, looking up at the Archdeacon looming above him.

"I understand, Minister. Go and hurry back. I will look after him until you return."

"And make sure he drinks something," Frollo instructed, raising the cup of watered down wine. "No doubt the fever could dehydrate him. I will return as soon as possible."

With that Frollo swiftly exited the bell tower and the cathedral. Outside, as he mounted atop his steed, he suddenly heard someone call, _"Claude!"_

Turning his attention around, he shook his head as Jehan jogged towards him, his face worried. "There's something I need to discuss with you!" he urgently told the judge.

"It's going to have to wait until later, Jehan," Frollo snapped. "I have an errand to run and I can't deal with your nonsense at the moment." Snapping the reins, Romulus took off down the cobblestone streets, leaving the younger Frollo in the dust.

The winter wind nipped his face as the Minister rode through the city en route to Rue de Bièvre over on the left bank. Stopping before a building with a sign depicting a mortar and pestle, Frollo tied up his horse and stepped into the facility.

Inside the dark shop, Frollo studied the vials and jars of herbs and liquids lining the shelves, then the numerous mortars and set of scales cluttering the countertop. Emerging from the back storage room was a tall pale man with a long white beard, dusting his hands off. "Minister Frollo!" he greeted, bowing respectfully. "How can I be of service today?"

"My charge has fallen ill," Frollo stated. "Influenza with a high fever, so for that I will need…" He looked over the inventory on the shelves, recalling his education in the science of herbs. "A few ounces of ground coriander for the fever…No doubt he'll experience stomach pain, so some mint as well. Hildegard recommended cinnamon for the flu, so I suppose I will take a few ounces of that as well."

As the white-haired apothecary measured and packed the amount, he commented, "My lord, if I may be so bold, a combination of influenza and fever is a deadly one; it is highly unlikely that a person can recover from something as severe as that."

"I will do what I must to treat it," Frollo bit back, cold flint eyes boring into the withered old man.

"As you wish, Minister. But if you are looking to use cinnamon as a flu remedy, might I suggest honey as well? A combination of both is commonly used for it."

"I have heard of such a thing. Honey as well then."

Scribbling the amount and prices down in the record book before him, the old man said, "For you, Minister, two deniers, considering honey is scarce during the cold season."

Reaching under his robe and rummaging through the coin purse, Frollo paid the man before striding out with the supplies in hand.

X

"How is he?" Frollo asked as soon as he climbed up the wooden steps to the bell tower, vials of ingredients in his hands. Throwing his hat aside on the table, his eyes rested on Quasimodo who was barely sitting up with the help of the Archdeacon.

Father Augustin looked up at the approaching Minister. "Quasimodo was quite dehydrated but he managed to drink the water you left."

Frollo studied the boy's sickly countenance which was still incredibly fatigued. "I've purchased the supplies necessary so I will take it from here, Father."

The man rose, nodding at the judge and laying the boy back down. "We'll prepare more water downstairs for you later, Claude," he said before brushing past Frollo and making his way out.

Behind him, Quasimodo coughed violently, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath. With some difficulty, Quasimodo raised one hand and pointed away, continuing to cough. Frollo redirected his attention to where the boy motioned, eyes falling on the wooden bucket given to him earlier.

Grabbing it, the judge came to the boy's side and rested it beside Quasimodo. There was a pause on the boy's sullen face, Frollo instantly detecting something wrong. Suddenly the boy lurched forward into the bucket, a retching sound echoing from the container, startling the judge for a moment.

Getting to his feet, Frollo looked down at the boy, hunched over with his red head still lingering inside the bucket as he held it securely to his chest. "I will back shortly, Quasimodo," he stated, receiving only a nauseated groan from the boy before heading back downstairs.

Exiting the kitchen with a pitcher of water and more linen rags at hand, Frollo exhaled as the stress began taking its toll on him in the form of another terrible headache. When he returned, Quasimodo still hugged the wooden bucket weakly in his arms, resting his face against the rim and looking up at his guardian through half-lidded eyes. Frollo quickly poured some wine into the small wooden cup before diluting it with water.

"Drink up, my boy," Frollo instructed, lowering himself and pouring the drink into the boy's mouth, some water dribbling down his chin. Frollo wiped the boy's face, which was still bright red. After soaking another linen cloth in the cauldron of cold water and wringing it out, Frollo pressed it again to Quasimodo's forehead.

"Keep this here," Frollo directed. "It will help the fever go down." Sluggishly, Quasimodo lowered himself back again his pillow, his illness crippling him back to sleep.

"_Claude!"_ A familiar voice piped up, Frollo cursing under his breath as he saw Jehan coming into view, lowering the hood of his fur-lined robe and tipping his cap. "Brother, I need to talk to you-"

"Jehan, I am not sure if you can see, but this is _not_ the most ideal time!" Frollo spitefully stated as his brother took note of the current state of the bell tower.

"I wanted to speak to you earlier, but you took off," Jehan retorted. "What's going on here?"

"Quasimodo has contracted the flu, and I am seeing to it that he gets well. So I am not particularly interested in what you have to say at the moment. First, I must give him the medicine from the apothecary, then I must dispose of _this,_" Frollo said, pointing to the sick-filed bucket. "And most likely put him in tepid water to subdue the fever. _And_ I still have work to oversee back at the Palace."

"Busy day, I see. You know, Claude, if you need a doctor, I can ask Robin to stop by. He'll reduce the bill for friends and family—which includes _his_ _best friend_," Jehan commented, pointing to himself. "_And _his best friend's brother, who just so happens to be Minister of Justice."

"I appreciate the offer, but that won't be necessary. I may not be a doctor, but I have enough knowledge of medicine to take care of the boy on my own."

"If you say so. Anyway, there's still, uh…something I need to talk to you about," Jehan said, following his brother who took the wooden bucket to the table.

Casting Jehan an irritated glance, Frollo curtly replied, "Well I am very busy at the moment." Taking the vials from the pouch beneath his robe, the Minister began pouring out the cinnamon and honey into the wooden cup.

As Frollo began to mix the syrupy concoction together, Jehan continued, "Look, it's really nothing, so if you would lend an ear for a second..."

Picking up a spoon, Frollo bent down and nudged the boy awake, feeding the tired child the mixture. "It is said that this will help the flu," he gently told Quasimodo, whose unfocused teal eyes barely glanced at Jehan. "And hopefully this will stay down."

"So…if I could just talk to you for a moment?" Jehan asked again, hands folded behind his back and eyes nervously going back and forth between his brother and the floorboards. "Then I'll get out of your hair and you can get back to playing nursemaid."

Scowling at his brother, the judge acridly answered, "Not…now!"

Solemnly nodding, Jehan replied, "Alright then, later."

"Thank you," Frollo said, exasperated. Taking the filled bucket in his hands, he said, "Now if you don't mind, I have my own concerns."

After Jehan left, Frollo spent a great deal of time trying to get Quasimodo to take his medicine. The poor boy could not even eat with the fever weakening his muscles, Frollo resorting to crushing up the mint leaves and sprinkling them into a cup of water. Quasimodo's muscles prevented him from sitting up on his own, resulting in the Minister having to steady him while he fed him. The boy would have easily fallen forward under his large hunch had his guardian not held him up by his shoulder.

Quasimodo continued to cough as he slept, Frollo regularly pressing the cold compress to his forehead. It still burned the judge's hand when he checked the boy's forehead, Frollo knowing that the fever had to be taken care of immediately.

"Minister, the water is prepared," the Archdeacon informed him, surprised that the judge had lingered on so long to care for the boy. Kneeling down, Frollo carefully gathered the hunchbacked child in his arms, once again hoisting the boy over his shoulder and following the Archdeacon downstairs.

Frollo struggled to keep himself steady as he cautiously took one step at a time down the spiral staircase, clutching the boy's misshapen figure to him as he carried him. Father Augustin guided him through the cathedral corridors and down more stairs until arriving to the cells where the church's priests and nuns resided. Augustin led the Minister and child to Notre Dame's washroom, a large wooden tub in the center of the cell, only filled with a few inches of water.

Placing Quasimodo's limp form on the nearby wooden bench, Frollo stretched his arm and asked, "Is it lukewarm? I cannot risk him catching pneumonia if the water is too cold!"

"It is," Augustin evenly replied. "See for yourself."

Dipping his fingers into the water, Frollo nodded in approval of its temperature.

"I'll go fetch you some supplies," the Archdeacon said, marching out of the washroom.

Frollo turned back to his bleary-eyed ward, the boy's red hair falling messily over his face.

"Quasimodo," Frollo spoke, trying not to sound frantic as he gingerly sat the boy up. "Quasimodo, we need to bring the fever down immediately, so we must use more water. Do you understand?"

Weary teal eyes looked up at his usually stern master, whose grim countenance had softened for once, Quasimodo weakly nodded.

"Can you lift your arms, my boy? Even slightly?" Frollo asked, his voice colored with worry.

With difficulty, Quasimodo barely lifted his plump arms. The Minister struggled somewhat, but managed to remove the boy's tunic, placing him in the wooden tub. Grabbing a clean linen rag and rolling up his robe and shirt sleeves, Frollo soaked the rag in the lukewarm water and carefully doused the boy's crooked back.

Much to the Minister's relief, Quasimodo's face began returning to its usual color. One of the church's nuns appeared with a stack of fresh linens and dry clothes for the boy, Frollo thanking her as she exited the washroom.

"Are you able to stand up?" Frollo asked him, checking to make sure he was not shivering.

Eyes more focused now, Quasimodo looked up at his master. In a small, raspy voice he answered, "I think so." Clutching to the judge's arm and the rim of the wooden tub, the hunchback uneasily stood up, Frollo lifting him up and sitting him down on the nearby bench.

After helping his charge dry off, lest he catch cold, Frollo helped the boy ease new clothes back on. "Come," the judge said, once again gathering the boy in his arms and carrying him back up the stairs to the bell tower. Along the way, Frollo could feel the boy nodding off in his arms.

Before the judge could carry his charge back up to the bell tower, the same nun from earlier reappeared before him. "Minister Frollo," she addressed. "Given the boy's current condition, it might be best if he stayed in one of the back cells while he recovers."

Looking down at the boy nestled in his arms, Frollo looked back at her and nodded compliantly. "You might be right. Very well, show me to it."

In the back cell, Frollo placed the boy down on the wooden pallet, Quasimodo still drained and asleep. After covering him with his blanket, Frollo rested his weary bones on a stray wooden stool from the corner of the small cell. He sat there keeping watch over the boy, constantly checking the temperature in his forehead.

X

Frollo sat slumped forward, resting his forehead against his hand while the boy still slept, not stirring once. The Minister let out a tired sigh—he had been Notre Dame for hours now watching over Quasimodo even though he longed to return and finish the amount of work left at the Palace. He shifted and leaned back against the cold stone wall and folding his hands in his lap, irked for his own lack of productivity today.

_Then again, _he thought to himself. _You couldn't very much let the boy die, could you?_

Still, now that Quasimodo was sleeping soundly and the fever reduced, Frollo still wanted to spring from these seemingly closing walls and return to his home.

Suddenly a knock at the door tore him from his seat and swiftly answering it. Standing in the corridor was the Archdeacon and a handful of the church's clergy members, the judge's chaperon cradled in Augustin's hand.

The Archdeacon spoke. "Minister, if you wish, we will look after Quasimodo for the time being. You've been here for hours and-"

"Thank goodness," Frollo gratefully expressed, taking his hat from the man. "Keep the boy in check, for my day is far from over and heaven knows how much work is waiting for me. Good day."

As fast as he could, the judge exited the suffocating cathedral, welcoming the icy winter air that breezed past his face. He sped his horse away from Paris's center of piety and back towards its home of justice.

When Frollo arrived back to his study, he was utterly dismayed when he looked up the stack of documents greeting him on his desk. Running his hand over the length of his face, he slammed the door behind and got to work.

X

By the time he had signed the last document, night had already covered the city. Staring out his study window towards Notre Dame, the bells began to toll the hour. In that moment, Frollo wondered the state of Quasimodo's health. He was exhausted beyond belief and was reluctant to ride off to the cathedral now.

_I will check on him first thing tomorrow morning,_ he told himself, rising from his seat and stretching his stiff neck, his back cramped as well from his hunched position for the last few hours. Frollo trudged out of his study down the corridor and up the stairs to his chambers, massaging the back of his neck.

Once inside his room, the judge ungracefully collapsed flat on his back onto the large bed, rubbing at his tired eyes. He exhaled heavily, enjoying the comforting silence filling the room as his taut muscles minutely relaxed.

_Peace at last,_ he thought, his mind beginning to lull itself to sleep, which was still addled with court case after court case. Of course there was also the sense of worry over Quasimodo's well-being, Frollo reminding himself that the boy was in good hands and that his fever was falling when he left him. But now, to put aside all those worries and regain his depleted energy…

A furious knock at the door roused the Minister before could get some much needed rest, tearing himself from the bed with an aggravated groan. Pulling the door open, a skittish-looking Jehan stood there, nervously glancing from the corridor to his brother.

He had stood up too quickly and was blinded by the hallway torch light. Blinking his vision back to normal from black, Frollo grimaced at his younger brother. His voice tiredly rumbled, "Whatever this is about, can it wait until morning?"

"It really can't!" Jehan replied, his body twitchy. "It's urgent and I need your help _now!_ Please!"

Leaning against the doorframe and blinking himself awake, Frollo answered, "Jehan, I am extremely exhausted, so whatever dilemma you have entangled yourself with, it is going to have to wait until tomorrow."

Before the judge could close the door on him, the young man quickly halted him. "Claude, remember when I said I had to speak with you earlier?" he asked, gripping the judge's shoulder.

"What did you do now?" he growled, furrowing his brow. No good could come from this boy if he was here of all hours asking for his brother's time.

"To put it lightly…woman troubles," Jehan hesitantly answered. "So to speak."

Frollo raised an eyebrow at him, not interested in the least in some verbal dance to retrieve an answer from his brother.

"Alright, alright…There's a certain Basque woman who claims that I…sort of, might have…fathered her children," Jehan gripped the back of his neck uneasily.

***A/n: Hope this chapter is up to par, I really liked it. I think we need to Frollo not acting like a dick so much anyway. And the Wolves of Paris incident was real, I swear! What sayest thou?**

**Also, I don't understand how there are so many views of "Love You to Death" and hardly any reviews-makes me sad x'c. Here's to all you reading and reviewing my stories, your support means the world to me! And if you haven't seen, I'm revamping "Little Boy Frollo" so it's better and more accurate. And here's to Malakaii's "Renascence" which is just phenomenal right now! **

**Read, review, PM, whatever! Thanks!**


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